‘Yeah, Martin was saying.’
‘He said you were out there a while back, when Geordie Mitchell got killed.’
‘Yeah. It was a mess. Did you know him?’
‘Knew of him, but never met him.’
‘He was a good guy,’ said Shepherd. ‘Sniper killed him. Wrong place, wrong time.’ He rubbed his shoulder. A sniper had shot him, too, while he was with the SAS in Afghanistan. Like Geordie, he’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time, but unlike Geordie, the sniper’s bullet hadn’t killed him and he’d been helicoptered to an army hospital before he’d bled to death. Geordie had been hit in the head and had died instantly.
As O’Brien returned with a tray of drinks, the door to the men’s room opened and Billy Bradford walked out. Shepherd did a double-take. The brothers were twins. O’Brien laughed. ‘They’re something, aren’t they?’
Shepherd introduced himself and Billy sat down beside his brother. Other than their clothing, the two men were identical. Billy wore black jeans and a leather bomber jacket. ‘Martin neglected to tell me you were twins,’ said Shepherd.
‘We had a lot of fun with them in the Regiment,’ said O’Brien. He tapped Jack’s arm. ‘Remember those Yanks, the hard-as-nails Navy Seals?’
Jack laughed. ‘They never sussed us, did they?’
O’Brien grinned at Shepherd. ‘These Navy Seals came to Hereford for some joint training exercises. All muscle and not much up top, truth be told. They were so bloody gung-ho it was laughable. Every exercise was a competition and teamwork went out of the window. Anyway, they kept asking us what the hardest SAS endurance test was. So we told them.’
‘The Fan Dance?’
‘Exactly,’ said O’Brien. ‘The Fan Dance.’
Pen y Fan was the tallest peak in the Brecon Beacons, where the SAS put its recruits through selection training. It was a shade under three thousand feet up to its stony exposed plateau and the Fan Dance involved running up to the top fully loaded with kit and rifle, running down the other side, then back up and down again. It was a killer exercise that would test the fittest soldier.
‘Anyways, they nagged and nagged to go on the Fan Dance, and said they wanted to go up against our fittest guy.’ O’Brien’s grin widened. ‘We told them that was Jack. They reported at the bottom of Pen y Fan, nice and early. Jack was there with full endurance kit, an eighty-pound bergen, and his rifle, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. The eighty-pound kit got the Seals hot and bothered because it’s about twice the weight of theirs. Jack said no problem because he’d been eating his spinach. That pissed off the Seals so they started stuffing rocks into their bergens to make up the weight.’ O’Brien took a long pull on his pint. ‘So, we got them started and they went haring up the hill like the proverbial bats. Jack brought up the rear, taking it nice and slow. As soon as the Seals were out of sight, Jack came back down.’
‘Because Billy was already at the summit,’ said Shepherd.
O’Brien made a gun of his hand and pointed it at Shepherd. ‘Got it in one,’ he said. ‘Billy’d been jumping up and down to work up a sweat, so he was panting like crazy when the Seals came charging up. They couldn’t believe it. So they went hurtling down the far side, doing that strange grunting thing they do. Hoooh-hah!’
‘Hoooh-hah!’ echoed Jack and Billy.
‘By this time we’d put Jack on a motorbike and taken him by road to the far side of the hill. When they got there he waved and asked them what’d kept them.’ O’Brien slapped the table with the flat of his hand. ‘Now they were fighting mad. Sweating like pigs, aching all over, they turned around and went storming back up the hill. They got to the top in record time and, of course, Billy was there to meet them, sitting on a rock and having a brew.’
‘I offered them a cup but they said something very disrespectful about my mother and went hurtling down the hill,’ said Billy. ‘Hoooh-hah!’
‘They broke pretty much every record for the Fan Dance, but when they got to the bottom and found Jack stretched out on a lounger with a cocktail in his hand, they still didn’t get it. We never heard any more cracks about how superfit they were, and they went back to the States still scratching their heads.’
The four men laughed and drained their glasses. O’Brien went to the bar and returned with fresh drinks. ‘Okay, here’s the story,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’ve been told that a Palestinian hitman’s got hold of my personal details. I don’t have a photograph or a description, just a name, Hassan Salih, which means nothing. He uses a whole raft of names.’
‘Raghead?’ said Billy.
‘Palestinian,’ said Shepherd, ‘but he has passports for all sorts of nationalities. Salih is a hitman, one of the best. He knows where I live and there’s an outside chance that he might come looking for me.’
‘There’s a contract out on you?’ asked Jack.
Shepherd shook his head. ‘There’s a contract out on the woman I work for, but while he’s been sniffing around her he’s come up with my details.’
‘I’ve got to be honest. I don’t see it’ll be hard to spot a raghead in Hereford,’ said Jack.
‘I sure hope not,’ said Shepherd, ‘but I’d feel a lot happier if you two guys would babysit my boy until it’s all sorted.’
‘Not a problem,’ said Jack.
‘Plus he’s got a very sexy au pair,’ said O’Brien.
Billy raised an eyebrow. ‘Has he now?’
‘Katra,’ said Shepherd. ‘She’s Slovenian.’
‘And as fit as a butcher’s dog,’ said O’Brien.
‘This gets better by the minute,’ said Jack. ‘Is she single?’
‘Please don’t take away my au pair,’ said Shepherd. ‘My home would fall apart without her. How are you guys fixed for guns?’
‘Not a problem,’ said Jack.
‘It’s an outside chance that anything will happen, but if it does the guy’s a pro and he’ll be tooled up.’
‘We’ll be carrying,’ said Billy.
‘Silencers would be a good idea,’ said Shepherd. ‘We’ve got neighbours.’
‘No hand grenades, then,’ said Jack, with a straight face.
The men had another round of drinks, then drove to Shepherd’s house. Shepherd went with O’Brien while the Bradford twins followed in their black Range Rover.
Liam was in the kitchen eating fish fingers and chips when Shepherd opened the front door. ‘Dad!’ he shouted, and hurtled down the hallway to hug his father. Shepherd picked him up and swung him around. Liam screwed up his face. ‘You smell of smoke.’
‘I’m sorry about that.’
‘Are you smoking?’
‘I have to, for a while. It’s part of my cover.’
‘Smoking gives you cancer.’
‘I know,’ said Shepherd. ‘Have you been behaving?’
‘Sure,’ said Liam.
‘That’s good, because I’ve a present for you in the car.’
‘What is it?’ asked Liam, excitedly.
Shepherd put him down. ‘Say hello to your uncle Martin first.’
‘Hi, Uncle Martin,’ said Liam. ‘Are you staying, Dad? Can we go fishing tomorrow?’
Shepherd ruffled his son’s hair. ‘Flying visit, Liam, I’m sorry.’
Liam’s face fell. ‘It’s always a flying visit. When are you coming home?’
‘Just a few more days.’
‘You always say that, and it never is,’ said Liam. A crafty smile lit his face. ‘Can I have a dog?’
‘What?’
‘A dog. Can we get a dog? That way when you’re not here I can play with it.’
‘Maybe,’ said Shepherd. ‘Hang on, what are you saying? If you get a dog, you won’t miss me so much.’
‘I’ll still miss you. But I’ll have something to play with. What sort can I have? A red setter?’
‘We’ll see,’ said Shepherd.
