‘No rest for the wicked,’ said the Major.

  ‘Drink?’

  ‘Thought you’d never ask.’ The Major slid onto the bench opposite Shepherd. ‘Get me a Guinness – it’s been a long day.’

  Shepherd went to the bar and returned with the Major’s pint, another Jameson’s and soda and a couple of packets of peanuts.

  ‘So, how’s Liam, these days?’ asked Gannon, after they had clinked glasses and sipped their drinks.

  ‘All good,’ said Shepherd. ‘He’s doing Elementary Flying Training at RAF Cranwell and, assuming he passes, he’ll move to 670 Squadron for operational training.’

  ‘I suppose he wants to fly Apaches?’

  ‘They all want to be Top Gun, I guess. But he’ll be happy just flying. And they took him on as an officer even without a degree, so it’s all good.’

  ‘And the lovely Katra?’

  Shepherd looked at him warily. ‘All good, too.’

  ‘How does Liam feel about you being romantically involved with the maid?’

  Shepherd laughed. ‘Romantically involved? It isn’t a bloody Jane Austen novel. And, yes, he’s fine with it. And she was never the maid. Au pair was the official title.’

  ‘I was only messing with you, Spider. She’s a lovely girl. You’re punching well above your weight there, you being twice her age.’

  ‘I’m ten years older, that’s all.’ He realised from the look on the Major’s face that he was joking. ‘Fine. Joke all you want. I’m very happy.’

  ‘And lucky.’

  Shepherd grinned. ‘That, too.’

  The Major took a long pull on his pint. ‘So I’m guessing the fact that you didn’t want to meet at Credenhill means this is off the record?’

  Shepherd nodded. ‘I’m sorry. Yes. It’s a funny one, boss. I’ve got to tread carefully.’

  ‘You’re among friends, Spider. So I’m guessing the desire to keep this on the QT is to do with Jeremy Willoughby-Brown.’

  Shepherd shrugged but didn’t reply.

  ‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ said the Major. ‘You watch your back with that one, Spider. You need to count your fingers after you’ve shaken hands with him.’

  ‘I try to keep physical contact to a minimum,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘Probably best,’ said the Major. ‘So, you wanted to know about Sergeant Standing. Or Former Sergeant Standing. He’s just lost his stripes. He’s on leave at the moment.’

  ‘Do you know him?’

  ‘I’ve met him a few times.’

  ‘What’s he like?’

  The Major chuckled. ‘He didn’t hit you, did he? He makes a habit of lashing out, but it’s usually officers he thumps.’

  ‘It’s not that,’ said Shepherd. ‘I wish it was.’

  ‘You know they call him Lastman?’

  ‘Lastman Standing? I’ve heard worse nicknames than that.’

  ‘Lastman because he’s the last man you want to have an argument with. He doesn’t really have a filter. If he disagrees with you, he’ll tell you, right up front. If you push him, he’ll push right back. Try to hit him and you’d better connect because his retaliation will be full on.’

  Shepherd nodded. ‘He acts on his instincts?’

  ‘Without thinking,’ said the Major. ‘He doesn’t consider the consequences of his actions. Do you know what happened, out in Syria?’

  ‘I’m told he hit an officer. Who hasn’t wanted to do that at some point?’

  ‘No offence taken,’ said the Major.

  Shepherd smiled. ‘You know what I mean, boss. A wrong decision can cost lives in combat. And we’ve all known officers who’ve made bad calls.’

  ‘But you know how it works in the SAS. Officers consult their men, the old Chinese parliament. Everyone who has a view expresses it. That tends to iron out any wrinkles.’

  ‘So why did Standing feel he had to get physical with an officer?’

  ‘The way he tells it, the officer started it. The officer hit him. Or at least pushed him. Standing went into retaliation mode and didn’t stop until he’d put the officer in hospital.’

  ‘And the officer pushed him because?’

  The Major nodded. ‘Ah, yes, and thereby hangs a tale. Standing was leading a four-man team, who were providing the laser targeting for a drone strike on one if ISIS’s top people. This is a guy the Yanks have been hunting for months. They finally get an opening and they send Standing and his team in to light the way. All good. The team hunkers down and six days into it said target appears. Problem is, a truck-load of kids also appears, right outside the target house. The drone’s on its way, the clock’s a-ticking, and Standing doesn’t want the collateral damage.’

  ‘Understandable,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘I knew you’d see it that way.’

  Shepherd frowned. ‘See it what way? We’re not in the business of killing kids. If we start killing children then we’re no better than the people we’re fighting.’

  ‘You and him are alike, you know. You both have this moral compass that constantly points you in the direction of the right thing to do.’

  ‘You make it sound like a bad thing.’

  The Major sipped his pint. ‘Doing the right thing is just that, doing the right thing. But sometimes you have to look at the big picture.’

  ‘Please don’t tell me that the end justifies the means.’ Shepherd drained his glass. ‘So far, from what you’ve told me, I’d have done the same. I’ve been on those drone operations and my view is always that if there’s any possibility of civilian collateral damage you hold off. We shouldn’t be killing innocents to get at the bad guys.’

  ‘In a perfect world, I’d agree with you,’ said the Major. ‘But the world isn’t perfect and it’s not black and white. It’s all a murky grey and that means sometimes you have to take difficult decisions. And sometimes those difficult decisions lead us to follow orders that we’re not happy with. But that’s why we call them orders, not requests.’ He took another pull on his pint. ‘The target out in Syria was Abdul-Karim Ahmadi. AKA, literally. Cut his teeth making IEDs and graduated to big-time bombmaking. But he’s a strategist, too, one of those arguing that they have to take the fight to Europe. It’s generally believed that he came up with the idea of hijacking trucks and driving them into crowds, as happened in Berlin and Nice. Cheap, effective and deadly. Taking him out will save lives. There’s no question of that.’

  ‘Well, you say that, but once he’s taken out, he’ll be replaced.’

  ‘That’s no reason not to do anything, though.’

  ‘No, but your argument that the end justifies the means is all hypothetical. Could’ve, would’ve, should’ve. Anyway, what happened about the kids?’

  ‘Standing was given a direct order to paint the target’s house. He queried the order and Captain Waters read him the Riot Act. So Standing painted a building a couple of hundred feet away. The Yanks weren’t happy, naturally. Waste of a perfectly good missile. But it’s the fact that all the intel went to waste that’s really pissing them off.’

  ‘Then they should have got Delta Force to do their painting instead of subcontracting it out to the Brits.’

  ‘They’re keen to share the workload,’ said the Major.

  ‘The responsibility, you mean. So that they can say these are joint operations when really it’s the Yanks that are calling the shots. So why didn’t the captain just put Standing on a charge for disobeying the order?’

  ‘The captain is fairly inexperienced. A more experienced officer might have let it go, or given him a verbal dressing-down. But for some reason known only to the captain, he decided to get physical. It was all over in seconds, but the captain ended up with a broken nose and a cracked jaw.’ He took another drink, then shrugged. ‘Anyway, the long and the short of it is that Standing has been given a month to get his anger-management issues under control.’

  ‘How’s that going to work?’

  ‘He’s been given a number of therapists to choose from.’

  ‘Was Carolyn Stockmann on the list?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know. Shouldn’t have thought so. I don’t think anger management is her area of expertise. Does she still do your psychological evaluations?’

  ‘Jeremy put a stop to that. Now I go to a hi-tech firm in the City and they run me through some sophisticated computer programs. It’s all bollocks.’

  The Major laughed. ‘You’re telling me.’

  ‘So the therapist, where are they?’

  ‘London. He was issued with a rail warrant for the Big Smoke and given details of therapists there. The idea is for him to get his anger-management issues sorted and then the SAS doctors will assess him to see if he’s fit for duty or not.’

  ‘And if not, he’s RTU’d?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  Shepherd grimaced. Being Returned To Unit was pretty much the death knell for a military career – most troopers who were RTU’d usually left the army soon afterwards. The SAS was the best of the best, and its members regarded all other units as second best. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got an address for him?’

  ‘He gave the Credenhill camp as his home address. But I’ve got a mobile number.’ He took a piece of paper from his pocket and gave it to Shepherd. Shepherd put it into his wallet but he had already memorised the number it bore.

  ‘Next of kin?’

  ‘A sister. Alexia. Lives in London. She’s just a kid. Sixteen, seventeen.’

  Shepherd frowned. ‘Which is it? Sixteen or seventeen?’

  ‘Sixteen, I think. Why?’

  Willoughby-Brown had said that Standing’s sister had died of a drug overdose and sixteen seemed hellish young for a drug addict. ‘No reason,’ said Shepherd. ‘Just trying to work out what’s what. Do you know if he’s seen any of the therapists yet?’

  The Major shook his head. ‘I can probably find out.’

  ‘Could you? It’d have to be on the QT.’

  ‘I’m sure I can manage that. Now, can you tell me what he’s done that’s so bad they’ve put you on the case?’

  ‘It’s better if I don’t. Let’s just say Five wants a word with him and they can’t find him. Hand on heart, I don’t really know much more than that.’

  ‘But Willoughby-Brown can’t ask the Regiment officially?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘But he knows that if he asks you, you’ll ask me. Unofficially.’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘He’s a devious bastard, isn’t he? He doesn’t care who he uses.’

  ‘He gets things done, though.’

  The Major chuckled.

  ‘What?’ asked Shepherd.

  ‘You hate the argument that the end justifies the means. And now look at you.’

  Shepherd nodded. ‘You’re right. But there’s a world of a difference between using people and killing people.’

  The Major raised his glass. ‘No question,’ he said. ‘But going back to Lastman Standing. At least answer me one thing. Has he gone over to the dark side?’

  ‘To be honest, it’s the opposite.’

  The Major’s eyes narrowed. ‘He’s gone vigilante?’ Shepherd didn’t say anything, just raised his eyebrows. ‘I’ll tell you one thing,’ said the Major. ‘He’s the last man I’d want coming after me, that’s all I can say.’

  Lisa Wilson looked up at a knock on her cabin door. ‘Are you decent?’ asked Meyer.

  She put down the magazine she was reading and sat up. ‘What’s up?’

  Meyer pushed open the door. ‘We’re going to St Lucia,’ he said.

  ‘Lovely,’ she said. ‘Now?’

  ‘Tomorrow,’ said Meyer.

  ‘Sailing?’

  Meyer laughed. ‘Don’t be daft,’ he said. ‘It’s six thousand kilometres – it’d take months. We’re flying.’

  ‘How long will we be there?’

  ‘Why? Have you got somewhere else to be?’

  She laughed. ‘I just want to know what to pack.’

  ‘Travel light,’ he said. ‘We’ll buy whatever we need when we’re there.’

  ‘You know I love to shop,’ she said.

  ‘Are you hungry?’

  ‘I can eat.’

  ‘Tapas?’

  ‘Perfect.’

  Meyer grinned. ‘Great. We’ll head out in half an hour. Jeeves is coming.’

  ‘To St Lucia?’

  ‘Just for tapas,’ said Meyer. He pulled the door shut and went back above deck. Lisa reached for her phone. She sent a text message to Jeff: Where are you?

  After a couple of minutes her phone vibrated to let her know he’d replied: Who is this?

  She smiled and sent a second message: It’s Lucy. She added three kisses for good measure.

  She left it a minute or so before sending a follow-up. Did you forget me already? Bastard!

  There was no reply so she snarled at the phone, ‘Come on, you bastard, don’t give me the silent treatment,’ she muttered. She sent a third text. Don’t forget I want your body. She added more kisses.

  She tossed the phone onto her bed and went to shower and change into a canary yellow dress that she knew showed off her tan. She added mascara to her lashes, then picked up the phone again. Jeff still hadn’t replied so she called the number. It rang for several seconds, and then it was answered. ‘Jeff, where the hell are you?’ she asked. There was no answer. ‘Jeff? Stop messing about. Jeff?’ She was fairly sure she could hear breathing but there was no reply. Then the line went dead. She frowned, but decided against calling him back.

  Shepherd parked the SUV in front of the house and let himself in. ‘I’m home!’ he shouted. ‘And I’ve got champagne!’ There was no reply from Katra so he headed to the kitchen. He was surprised to see her standing by the sink, looking out into the garden. ‘Didn’t you hear me?’ he asked, putting the bottle of Moët into the fridge.

  She didn’t react and he went over to her. When he put his hand on her shoulder she shrugged him off. ‘Katra, what’s wrong?’

  She turned around and pushed him away, using both hands. The shove caught him by surprise and he staggered back, off balance.

  ‘Baby, what’s wrong?’ Her eyes were red and her cheeks flushed.

  ‘Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong?’ she said, folding her arms and staring at the floor.

  ‘Baby, I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’

  She sniffed.

  ‘If you don’t tell me what’s wrong, how can I help?’

  She looked up and glared at him. ‘Help? How can you help? What do you mean, help? Help me how?’

  He took a step towards her. She flinched so he held up his hands. ‘I really don’t understand what’s going on,’ he said. ‘What’s happened?’

  She shook her head but didn’t answer.

  ‘Katra, if you don’t tell me what the problem is, how can I fix it?’

  ‘You can’t fix it,’ she said. She sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

  ‘At least let me try.’

  A single tear trickled down her cheek. ‘Who is Lucy?’

  ‘Lucy?’

  ‘Don’t lie to me, Dan.’ She pointed at the phone he’d left on the kitchen table. The Jeff Taylor phone.

  He groaned as realisation dawned. ‘You checked my messages?’

  ‘It beeped. I just looked to see who it was.’

  ‘That’s my work phone, Katra.’

  ‘That makes it all right, does it? She said she misses you and wants to know when you’re back.’ She sobbed and put a hand up to her mouth. ‘How could you lie to me?’ Shepherd reached for her but she pushed him away.

  ‘Katra, please …’

  She sobbed again and rushed out of the kitchen. He heard her run upstairs and slam the bedroom door. He sat down, picked up the phone and checked the messages. He grimaced when he saw the last: Don’t forget I want your body. And kisses. He cursed under his breath, then checked the other messages Lisa had sent. He groaned and put down the phone. He was angry with himself for not taking it with him, but he hadn’t expected anyone to be texting him.

  He went upstairs with a heavy heart and knocked on the bedroom door. ‘Katra?’ There was no answer and he turned the handle, half expecting her to have locked the door. She hadn’t. She was curled up on the bed, hugging a pillow, her back to him. ‘Katra, can we talk?’

  ‘There’s nothing to say,’ she said. ‘Just leave me alone.’

  ‘It’s not what you think.’

  ‘How can it not be what I think?’ she said. ‘She said she wants your body. And for all I know you want her too. I don’t understand. If you want her and not me then just tell me. Why lie to me?’

  He went to her side of the bed and sat down. He put a hand on her shoulder. She flinched but didn’t shake him away.

  ‘Lucy is part of a case I’m working on. Her name’s not even Lucy.’

  ‘You said it was a drugs case. You didn’t say it was a girl.’

  ‘It’s not. Well, it is in a way. It’s complicated, and you know I don’t like to talk about my work.’

  ‘She said she wanted you. Why would she say that, Dan? You don’t say you want somebody if you don’t.’

  He lay down next to her and put his arms around her. ‘She’s in a difficult position, baby. She’s alone and very vulnerable at the moment. Because of that she’s lonely and she’s reaching out to me.’

  ‘Didn’t you tell her about me?’

  ‘Baby, I’m under cover. She doesn’t know anything about me.’

  ‘You lie to her?’

  ‘I have to. That’s what it means when you work under cover. You pretend to be someone else.’

  She was silent for a while, but sniffed occasionally. ‘Dan?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Do you lie to me?’ Her voice was a soft whisper.

  He hugged her. ‘Sometimes.’

  She stiffened. ‘Really? When?’

  ‘You know when you cook gnocchi and I tell you they’re delicious?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I don’t really like them that much.’

  She laughed and rolled around so that she was facing him. ‘I won’t cook you gnocchi ever again,’ she said.

  ‘I can live with that.’

  ‘And I don’t want you ever to lie to me,’ she said, looking into his eyes.

 

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