kick-off. The tickets had been acquired, the volunteers had been selected, but even before the explosives had arrived in the country a careless conversation on a mobile phone had been picked up by an electronic monitoring station at Menwith Hill in Yorkshire. Within days the five volunteers, all Iraqis with British citizenship, had been arrested.
Then he had arranged for a truck filled with fertiliser explosive to be driven to the base of the London Eye by the river Thames. They had been betrayed by an old man who had overheard a whispered conversation in an East London mosque. He had spoken to his
The Saudi had next planned to detonate a car bomb in Trafalgar Square, but the day he was due to strike there had been a trade-union protest and the square was sealed off. The Saudi and another man had driven the explosive-laden car around the West End for the best part of two hours before they had abandoned the mission. The Saudi had told his associate to take the car back to the house in St John’s Wood that they were using as a base, but again he had been betrayed. The house was raided that night and the associate was arrested. He, too, was now in Belmarsh. The authorities hadn’t released details of the arrest or the car bomb. The Saudi knew why: if the public were aware of how close al-Qaeda had come to detonating a massive bomb in Trafalgar Square they would lose all confidence in the security services.
The Saudi ran his hands down the canvas vest. It fitted well. He had made it himself, stitching it by hand. It was woman’s work, but no woman could be trusted to know what he had planned. He had been unlucky three times but he would not be unlucky a fourth.
The four other men who had given themselves to the mission did not know each other. They knew only the Saudi, and only he knew that they were involved. Even if one of the others was caught or went to the authorities, they knew nothing of any value. They didn’t know what the target was. They didn’t know when they would be deployed. And they didn’t know who else was involved. They would be told only hours before it was due to happen.
The Saudi only ever spoke to the men in person. He never used the telephone, he put nothing in writing. There were no computer files, no letters, no written instructions, just whispers and nods. All four men were highly trained and all had made their preparations. They were ready to die, happy even to give up their lives. They craved the opportunity to die killing infidels. And if the Saudi’s plan worked, and if he was lucky, many hundreds of infidels would die. Soon.
Shepherd borrowed a car from the SAS pool and drove from the Stirling Lines barracks to Tom and Moira’s semi. He phoned from the car to let them know he was on the way. ‘I wish you’d let us know you were coming, Daniel,’ Moira said. ‘I could have aired your room.’
Shepherd hadn’t known he was going to Hereford until the helicopter had landed on the parade-ground in London. ‘It’s a flying visit, literally,’ he said. ‘I’m only here for two days and then I’m back to London.’
Shepherd heard Liam shouting in the background. ‘Is that Dad?’
‘Liam wants to talk to you, as you probably heard,’ said Moira.
‘Dad, where are you?’ Liam asked excitedly.
‘On my way to see you,’ he said. ‘I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.’
‘Are we going to London?’
‘Not yet. Soon, though.’
‘But you can stay here for a while?’
‘For tonight, at least,’ said Shepherd. ‘Let me talk to your gran.’
Liam put his grandmother back on the line. ‘You don’t have to go to any trouble, Moira. I can bunk down at the barracks.’
‘Nonsense,’ she said briskly. ‘You’ll spend the night with us and that’s the end of it. And you shouldn’t be using the phone while you’re driving. That’s how accidents happen.’
She cut the connection before he could explain that he was using the hands-free kit.
When he pulled up in front of the house, Liam was in the garden, waiting for him. Shepherd picked up his son and swung him round. ‘I missed you, kid.’
‘Put me down!’ squealed Liam.
Shepherd lowered him to the ground and tickled him. Liam ran giggling into the house and Shepherd chased after him. They stopped short when they saw Moira in the kitchen doorway, her arms folded across her chest. ‘No running in the house, Liam,’ she said.
‘Sorry, Gran.’
‘Sorry, Moira,’ said Shepherd. He winked at Liam and his son giggled.
‘Don’t forget your homework,’ said Moira.
‘Gran . . .’
‘It’s got to be done. You either do it now or you do it after supper. And I’m sure after supper you’ll want to play with your father. Why not pop up to your room and get it out of the way?’
Liam looked up at his father. ‘You’re staying?’
‘Of course.’
Moira took Shepherd into the kitchen and made a pot of tea. ‘Just two days, you said?’
‘Today and tomorrow. I’ll head back to London Thursday evening, but I’ll be here at the weekend.’
‘And you’re doing something with the Regiment?’
Shepherd could hear the suspicion in her voice. She’d never been comfortable with the fact that he was an SAS trooper, and Shepherd realised she thought he might be planning a return to soldiering. She had no need to worry because that was the furthest thing from his mind. ‘Just some technical training,’ he said, ‘to do with a police job.’
She poured milk into his tea and handed him the cup and saucer. There were no mugs in Moira’s house.
She sat down at the kitchen table. ‘Tom and I have been talking,’ she said, ‘about Liam. He’s settled in so well with us. The school was prepared to take him on a temporary basis because of the circumstances, but I’ve already spoken to the headmistress and there’s a permanent place for him if we want it. We’d have to move quickly, though, it’s a popular school . . .’
‘He’s my son,’ said Shepherd. ‘He belongs with me.’
‘Of course he does,’ she said. ‘No one’s trying to take him away from you. But he’s been with us for most of the past four months, and when you do come it’s usually a flying visit. It’s not as if your job is nine to five, is it?’
Shepherd opened his mouth to reply but shut it again when he heard a key in the front door. He stood up and smiled when Tom Wintour walked in. ‘Dan, good to see you,’ he said. ‘I was wondering whose car that was out front. Where’s the CRV?’
‘It’s a loaner,’ said Shepherd.‘The CRV’s in London.’
Tom shook hands with him, then dropped his battered leather briefcase under the kitchen table. ‘Are you staying?’ he asked, as he sat down at the table next to Moira. He was portly with receding grey hair and thick horn- rimmed glasses. He was a bank manager and looked the part in his dark blue pinstriped suit, starched white shirt and inoffensive tie.
Moira poured him a cup of tea. ‘Of course he’s staying,’ she said.
‘I was going to bunk at the barracks, but Moira insisted,’ said Shepherd.
‘You’ll be able to have breakfast with Liam,’ said Tom. He sipped his tea. ‘Did Moira tell you we’ve been talking about Liam’s future?’ he said.
‘Yes,’ said Moira.
‘We love having him here,’ said Tom. ‘There’s plenty of room. There’s the garden. The school is only ten minutes away.’
‘I was telling Daniel about the school,’ said Moira.
‘I appreciate the offer,Tom, really I do, but I want Liam with me.’
‘Absolutely,’ said Tom. ‘That’s where he belongs. But until your situation is a bit more stable, why not let him stay with us?’
‘I don’t see him enough as it is,’ said Shepherd.
