entrants to the EU, Poland, Hungary, Slovenia. I can wholeheartedly recommend the Polish girls. They’re hard workers and trustworthy. We’ve had a few negative experiences with the Slovenians, but we now have them thoroughly checked before we bring them over.’
Shepherd would have preferred a girl from the UK so that he could run his own check through the Police National Computer, but it sounded as if he wasn’t going to get the chance. ‘Do you have anyone who could start immediately?’
‘I have three Polish girls arriving tomorrow, two from Estonia, and I’m having half a dozen applicants interviewed in Slovenia later this week. Nurses. They can earn five times as much in London as au pairs.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘Now, I’ll have to check whether they have international driving licences, and I’m not sure whether they want live-in positions. Sometimes they like to stay together. We try to discourage sharing – bad habits spread. But we should have several likely candidates for you to see before the end of the week.’
‘And they’re all screened for criminal records?’ asked Shepherd.
‘Absolutely,’ said Miss Malcolm. ‘We insist on a letter from the local police authority saying they haven’t committed any offences, and an HIV-status certificate. We prefer them to have references from previous employers, ideally in the UK. That’s not always possible, of course, as many are coming here for the first time.’
Shepherd stood up. ‘I’m going to be away for a few days,’ he said. ‘You can get me on my mobile.’
‘Going anywhere nice?’ asked Miss Malcolm.
‘Not really,’ said Shepherd. ‘Business rather than pleasure.’
‘Well, hopefully by the time you get back we’ll have fixed up the perfect young lady for you,’ she said brightly.
The phone rang and Sewell frowned. He wasn’t allowed to call out and since he’d been in the hotel no one had rung him. He picked up the receiver. ‘Yes?’
‘Mr Sewell, this is Sergeant Beattie, downstairs.’
Sewell sighed, expecting bad news.
‘If you could have your bag packed, we’d like to move you in about fifteen minutes.’
Sewell thanked him, then threw his clothes and washbag into the holdall he’d brought with him when the police had picked him up from home on Friday morning. He switched off his laptop, closed it and put it into its nylon bag with the unopened bottle of Bollinger.
The sergeant knocked on his door and took him downstairs to where a younger officer in plain clothes was waiting at the wheel of a green Rover. Sewell and the sergeant climbed into the back. There was no small-talk during the short drive across the city, but Sewell wasn’t trying to make friends with his custodians.
The lobby of the hotel to which they took him was a big improvement on his previous accommodation. It was bright and airy, and there were three pretty girls behind the desk who greeted them with smiles. The sergeant handled the check-in, the younger plain-clothes officer carried Sewell’s holdall.
A porter showed them to Sewell’s suite. There was a large sitting room with a sofa, two armchairs and a television set three times the size of the one in the previous hotel. There was a DVD player, too. Sewell opened the minibar and grinned. There was a full range of beer, spirits and mixers, and two half-bottles of champagne. It wasn’t Bollinger, but it was drinkable.
There was another big-screen TV in the bedroom and a king-size bed. The bathroom contained a Jacuzzi and a shower big enough for a rugby team. Sewell’s smile widened. Things were getting better by the minute.
‘Is there anything we can get you, sir?’ asked the sergeant.
Sewell picked up a copy of the room-service menu and flicked through it. Oysters, fillet steak, Dover sole, a full range of French and Italian wines. ‘Hookers,’ he said. ‘Lots and lots of hookers.’
The guard checked Shepherd’s ID against the computer printout on his clipboard and waved to the far end of the parade-ground.‘If you’d park in bay thirty-two, sir, and head on through the door over there. Major Gannon’s expecting you.’
Shepherd edged the CRV over the metal teeth that would rip into the tyres of vehicles going the wrong way. He appreciated the ‘sir’ but it didn’t apply to his former rank in the SAS or to his present status as a detective constable with the police.
He locked the car and went through the door with his overnight bag. Two soldiers in fatigues were standing behind a reception desk. Shepherd showed his ID and one took him down a corridor and knocked on a mahogany door. As he walked in, Major Gannon was already striding across the room, his arm outstretched. ‘You’re looking good, Spider,’ he said.
‘Thanks, sir. You’re in no bad shape yourself.’ The major was a big man with a strong chin, wide shoulders and a nose that looked as if it had been broken at least once. He had the appearance of an enlisted man rather than the high-flying officer that he was. In all the years Shepherd had known him he had never heard him referred to as a Rupert, the derogatory term troopers used to describe their officers. The major was always ‘the Boss’. Shepherd had gone into battle with him twice, and would have died for him without a second thought.
Gannon shook his hand and slapped him on the back. ‘Tea?’ he asked. ‘Staff’s got a brew on.’
‘Thanks,’ said Shepherd. ‘Two sugars.’
The staff sergeant poured a mug of thick, treacly tea, splashed in a little milk and used a dessertspoon to heap in two mounds of sugar. Gannon sat down behind his desk. Behind him was a large window overlooking the parade-ground. There were three phones on the desk, and the briefcase containing the secure satellite phone they called the Almighty lay on a table. It never left Gannon’s side. The only people who had access to it were the prime minister, the Cabinet Office, and the chiefs of MI5 and MI6. When it rang it meant that all hell was breaking loose somewhere. The major was head of the Increment, an
Shepherd sipped his tea. ‘Thanks for doing this at short notice, Major,’ he said.
‘Not a problem,’ said Gannon.
‘I didn’t think they allowed live firing here, it being in the centre of London and all,’ said Shepherd.
‘We’re not training here,’ said the major. ‘We’ll be in Stirling Lines.’
Shepherd’s heart sank. It had taken him the best part of an hour to drive from Ealing to Central London, and this meant retracing his route plus an extra four or five hours westward to Hereford. They wouldn’t get to the barracks until evening, so they probably wouldn’t start training until tomorrow. A whole day wasted.
Gannon looked at his watch. ‘Transport’s on the way,’ he said.
‘Great,’ said Shepherd.
‘I’ve been reading up on SO19 procedures,’ said the major. ‘I’ve already briefed the guys in Hereford and they’ll have the Killing House set up for us.’
The Killing House was where the SAS rehearsed its hostage rescues. Shepherd had spent hundreds of hours there when he was in the Regiment, firing live ammunition at targets while colleagues played the part of hostages, often smoking and cracking jokes as the bullets flew.
‘Have you done much firing recently?’ asked Gannon.
Shepherd carried a pistol when he was undercover and the operation warranted it, but he’d never had to fire it in anger. Apart from a yearly range assessment, there was no requirement for him to do any live firing. It was different for the officers in SO19: their shooting skills were constantly tested and assessed, hence the need for Shepherd to get in some practice.
The windows rattled and Gannon looked over his shoulder. A large green helicopter settled slowly in the middle of the parade-ground. Its rotors slowed and the turbine settled back from a deafening roar to a juddering growl.
‘Our chariot awaits,’ said the major. He stood up. ‘You can bring your tea with you, if you like.’ He grinned at Shepherd’s confusion. ‘One of the perks of the job,’ he said.
There were three troopers behind Shepherd, their feet shuffling in the darkness. There were no lights in the Killing House, and the troopers hadn’t been given night-vision goggles. Their Heckler & Koch MP5s had been fitted with 1003 Aiming Projectors, which shone a tight beam of intense light from a fifty-five-watt halogen bulb directly along the gun’s line of fire. The light could be used to blind targets temporarily but because the beam was so focused it didn’t affect the user’s night vision.
Shepherd had the retractable stock version of the weapon, the MP5A3, which was favoured by the SAS because they often used their weapons covertly. It was also in general use by SO19.
