‘Interesting,’ said Button. ‘Okay, a couple of days away shouldn’t hurt. While you’re over, fix up an appointment with Caroline Stockmann, will you?’
‘It’ll be a pleasure,’ said Shepherd.
The general aviation terminal and apron were to the east of the main terminal at Belfast international airport and had their own entrance. Shepherd pulled up in his Audi and showed his ID card to a security guard, who checked his name against a list on a clipboard and waved him through.
A white Gulfstream with an American registration number was parked by a hangar belonging to a helicopter charter company. The steps were down but no one was around. Shepherd got out of his car and went up them.
Richard Yokely was sitting in one of the plane’s eight luxurious chairs, drinking coffee. He grinned when Shepherd appeared at the doorway. ‘Dan, come on in,’ he said. ‘We’ve got about twenty minutes. You want coffee?’
Shepherd shook his head. ‘Someone tried to attack my family. A Pakistani,British-born.’ He gaveYokely a piece of paper. ‘All the details I have are there. I don’t think it’s your man.’
Yokely ran his eyes down Shepherd’s notes. ‘Twenty-three?’ he said.
‘I think he was working with your man.’
Yokely looked at him over the top of his mug. ‘I’m not happy at you referring to him as my man.’
‘You know what I mean, Richard. You said there was a Muslim hitman after you and Charlie Button and the next thing I know a Muslim is breaking into my house with a gun.’
‘Your family okay?’ asked Yokely.
Shepherd could see that the American’s concern was genuine. ‘They’re fine, thanks. I had two guys looking after them and they took care of things.’
‘Permanently?’
‘There wasn’t time for kid gloves,’ said Shepherd. ‘And no one will be filing a police report.’
Yokely took another look at the piece of paper. ‘This isn’t a name I know,’ he said.
‘I’m assuming he was recruited locally. Which means that your man could try again. There’s enough fundamentalist nutters in this country for him to choose from. Do you have any idea where he is?’
‘I had his phone tracked for a while but he destroyed the Sim card so he’s off the radar again.’
‘Photograph? Anything I can work with?’
Yokely shook his head. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘But if I can get the information you want, what then?’
‘I’d take care of it.’
Yokely slipped the piece of paper into his jacket pocket and sipped his coffee. ‘Before, you said you weren’t happy about being proactive,’ he said.
Shepherd’s jaw tightened. ‘He attacked my family. He has to take the consequences. I haven’t changed my view on assassinating potential terrorists.’
‘I don’t remember that being an option,’ he said.
‘You chose your words carefully,’ said Shepherd, ‘but I got the implication.’
‘Remember when we first met, in the Special Forces Club in Knightsbridge? I ran a moral dilemma past you.’
‘Sure. Would I kill a terrorist who was on his way to kill civilians but who wasn’t a threat at the time?’
‘Yeah, well, let me give you another. Some scientist in the States has been using it as part of an experiment to see how the brain reacts while it’s making moral decisions.’
Shepherd sighed. ‘If you must.’
Yokely ignored the sarcasm. ‘Say you’re standing by a railway line and a runaway wagon’s racing towards you. You’re beside a set of points. If the wagon carries on the way it’s going, it’ll hit six people on the line. They’ll die unless you do something. If you pull the lever that controls the points you can divert the wagon along another line. But there’s a man on the second line. He’ll die if you change the direction of the runaway wagon. What do you do?’
‘That’s a no-brainer,’ said Shepherd. ‘You pull the lever. Six lives are more important than one.’
‘And ninety-nine per cent of the population would agree with you,’ said Yokely. ‘Now, say you’re standing on a bridge over the line and there’s a runaway wagon heading towards six people. No points this time, but you could throw yourself off the bridge in front of the wagon. Problem is, you’re not big enough to stop the wagon. But standing next to you is a fat guy. More than enough body mass to stop the wagon. Do you throw him off the bridge in front of the wagon to save the lives of the six people on the line?’
Shepherd smiled. ‘I get it,’ he said.
‘It’s a tougher call,isn’t it? Yet the premise is the same. You perform an action that puts six lives ahead of one. But while most people would pull the lever without hesitation, most would not push the guy off the bridge. Why do think that is?’
‘Because most people can’t kill up close and personal. Pulling a lever detaches you from the killing, I guess.’
‘The physical contact, you mean?’Yokely’s brow furrowed. ‘Maybe that’s it. But you’ve never had a problem with that, have you?’
‘I don’t lose sleep over the people I’ve killed,’ said Shepherd. ‘But every time I’ve taken a life, I’ve had right on my side. A moral and legal right. And, more often than not, the people I’ve killed have been trying to kill me.’
‘Sure, that makes the dilemma simpler, doesn’t it? If you’re the one standing in the way of the runaway wagon, you’ll do whatever it takes. It’s when you’re on the bridge that your moral code kicks in. But Hassan Salih is a stone-cold killer. If we don’t stop him he’ll kill Charlotte Button, maybe taking out her family as well. And he’ll carry on killing because that’s what he does for a living.’
‘I’m losing your metaphor. Is Salih the guy on the bridge or the runaway wagon?’
‘He’s the piece of shit that tried to kill your boy and who’s going to kill your boss unless we do something to stop him.’
‘You say “we” but you mean me, don’t you?’
‘She’s your boss,and it’s your country,’said Yokely. ‘I can’t go around killing people on your turf. It’s only the Russians who do that.’
‘So what are we talking about here, Richard? Are we talking about protecting Charlie, or about protecting you?’
Yokely smiled. ‘Tomato, potato,’ he said.
Shepherd drove from Belfast airport to Dublin and caught the Stena Line high-speed catamaran to Holyhead. The sea was mirror flat and the crossing took less than two hours. As he drove off the ferry he used his hands-free to call Martin O’Brien. O’Brien sounded out of breath. ‘You’re not having sex, are you, Martin?’ he asked.
‘Chance’d be a fine thing,’said O’Brien. ‘Just done a twelve-mile run.’
‘How fast?’
‘Just over the hour,’ said O’Brien.
‘Well done you.’
‘And I’ve lost three kilos in the last week.’
‘Kudos.’
‘Mind you, I’d kill for a burger. What’s up?’
A Porsche drove past Shepherd at breakneck speed. The driver was barely out of his twenties with a mobile phone pressed to his ear. Shepherd’s natural competitiveness kicked in and he had to fight the urge to stamp on his accelerator and give chase. ‘How’s it going with Charlotte?’
‘Bloody hard work,’ said O’Brien. ‘I’ve got four guys in rotation but she’s as slippery as an eel.’
‘Yeah, I told you she was shit hot at surveillance.’
‘You weren’t wrong. But we haven’t shown out and we haven’t seen anyone else on her tail.’
‘Have you spoken to the Bradford boys?’
‘Yeah, they said you had a spot of bother in Hereford.’
‘They handled it just fine.’
‘So, all’s well that ends well, as my old gran used to say.’
‘I’m not sure about that, Martin,’ said Shepherd. ‘The guy who went to my house didn’t fit the profile of a
