'The problem isn't the van, Supercop. The problem is the car full of armed police front and back, and the helicopter overhead.'
Shepherd showed no reaction. 'Like I said, it's not a problem.'
'I'm going to need more than that, Shepherd.'
'I know people.'
'Yeah, well, I know people too.'
'You know what I did before I was a cop?'
'Army.'
'Not just army. SAS.'
'I know,' said Carpenter.
Shepherd filed the information for future reference. There weren't many ways that Carpenter could have discovered he had been in the SAS. 'So a few armed police and a helicopter aren't going to worry the people I know,' said Shepherd.
'And they'll do it?'
Shepherd nodded slowly.
'How much are you paying them?'
'Nothing. They're friends.'
'So, Tuesday it is.'
Shepherd stared at Carpenter. 'If you hurt my son, I'll kill you.'
'Sticks and stones,' Carpenter said laconically.
Shepherd rushed forward and thrust the heel of his left hand against Carpenter's chin, pushing him against the cell wall. He drew his right fist back, ready to smash it into Carpenter's face. Carpenter stared at Shepherd, his hands hanging at his side. There was no fear in his eyes. Shepherd was breathing hard, his left hand clamped round Carpenter's throat. 'I'll kill you now!' he hissed.
Carpenter's face reddened but he made no sound. He just stared at Shepherd.
'I'll do it here and now.'
Shepherd heard a noise at the door. Carpenter's eyes flicked towards it, then back to Shepherd.
'Stay where you are or I'll drive his nose into his skull,' said Shepherd, without looking round.
Carpenter looked over Shepherd's shoulder and nodded at Gilchrist. Shepherd tightened his grip on Carpenter's throat. It would be so easy to kill him. One punch. The cartilage would spear the soft brain tissue, severing blood vessels, and bringing about almost instantaneous death. But what then? Would killing him get Liam back? Carpenter glared at him. There was anger in his eyes now, but still no sign of fear.
Shepherd released him. Gilchrist took a step towards Shepherd but Carpenter held up his hand. 'It's okay,' he croaked. 'Leave it.'
Gilchrist backed away. 'Watch the door,' said Carpenter. He unscrewed the top of a bottle of Highland Spring water and drank deeply, then wiped his mouth. Gilchrist went back out on to the landing. Carpenter took another drink. Shepherd stood at the foot of his bed.
Carpenter put down the bottle. 'I understandyour anger, Dan. If I was in your place I'd be angry, too. I'd lash out. I'd do exactly what you're doing. But in my heart I'd know that getting angry wouldn't get my boy back.'
'You hurt him and you're dead.'
'The whole point of this is that Liam doesn't get hurt,' said Carpenter. 'You get me out of here and you get your boy back. Everyone gains. The only way Liam gets hurt is if I have to stay behind bars. If that happens we all lose. You lose your boy and I lose my freedom.'
'I'll do what I can, but if it goes wrong, if I fail, then you're not to hurt him.'
Carpenter said nothing.
'Did you hear me?'
'I heard you. But you've no bargaining power here, Dan. I hold all the cards. And just so there's no misunderstanding, my men on the outside will kill Liam if anything happens to me in here.' He pointed a finger at Shepherd's face. 'I'll put down what just happened to the stress you're under, but you touch me again and I'll have your boy slapped around.'
Shepherd said nothing.
'Did you hear me, Dan?'
'Yeah,' said Shepherd. 'I understand.'
'Good man. Now, tell me exactly what you've got planned.'
There were three phones on Major Allan Gannon's desk. One was a general line that went through the switchboard at the Duke of York barracks in London, another was a direct line to SAS headquarters in Hereford, and the third connected him to the Special Boat Squadron base in Lympstone. Next to his desk, on a table of its own, was the briefcase containing the secure satellite phone they called the Almighty. It never left Gannon's side. It rarely rang, but when it did, all hell usually broke loose. The only people who had access to it were the Prime Minister, the Cabinet Office, and the chiefs of MI5 and MI6. And they didn't call Gannon for a chat about the weather.
It had been several weeks since the Almighty had rung, and Gannon felt like a caged lion. Three-quarters of the SAS personnel had gone to Iraq, and half had been in country before hostilities had officially commenced. But Gannon had been told in no uncertain terms that his services were required in the UK in case of a local terrorist incident. He and his team had waited for the expected terrorist backlash but none had been forthcoming and Gannon had spent the Iraqi war watching reporters in flak jackets describe the offensive on BBC World, Sky News and CNN.
He stood up, walked to the window and stared out through the bomb-proof blinds at the parade-ground, where a lone soldier on a discipline charge stood ramrod straight, his weapon at his side, sweating under the midday sun. He'd been standing at attention for three hours, ever since he'd been marched out by a grim-looking sergeant-major. Gannon had grinned when he'd seen the sergeant-major giving the squaddie a dressing-down. Standing still for three hours wasn't what Gannon would consider a punishment. A beating by six SAS troopers, now that was a lesson the young man would never forget.
A phone rang. Not the Almighty. The Almighty's commanding call to arms could never be confused with a regular telephone's half-hearted warble. It was the creamcoloured phone. The switchboard line. He picked up, knowing that, more likely than not, it would be a wrong number.
'Gannon,' he said, into the receiver.
'Major Allan Gannon?' said a voice. Scottish. Not a voice Gannon recognised.
'Yes?'
'My name's Sharpe, Jimmy Sharpe. You don't know me but I'm calling on behalf of a mutual friend who needs your help. Spider Shepherd.'
Gannon reached for a pad attached to a metal clipboard. It was stamped 'Eyes Only - Top Secret. Not For Distribution'. Strictly speaking the pad was only for official work, but Gannon doubted that anyone would mind. 'What does he need?' asked Gannon.
Shepherd's name was on the gym list again, presumably because Lloyd-Davies had been pulling strings on his behalf. His main motivation for using the gym had been to get close to Carpenter, but that had been blown out of the water. He had stopped carrying the Walkman. There was no longer any point. He'd left a message with Uncle Richard, telling him that things were progressing slowly. He just hoped Hargrove didn't decide the investigation had stalled and to pull him out.
He waited at the bubble. Amelia Heartfield was inside, talking to Tony Stafford. She was crying, brushing away tears with the back of her hand. Bill Barnes was standing at the stairs wearing his England football strip with a towel round his neck.
'What's wrong with her?' asked Shepherd, indicating Amelia.
'Rathbone's been killed,' said Barnes.
'How?'
'Mugged. Knifed.'
'What?'
'He was walking his dog. They found him stabbed. No wallet, no watch.'
'Bloody hell.'
