‘I’ll try not to.’

  She frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, you know, you buy a new pair of jeans and you ask me if they make you look fat? Is it okay to lie then?’

  ‘You think I’m fat?’

  ‘Of course not. But maybe in ten years. Who knows?’

  ‘I won’t be fat in ten years. I’ll never be fat.’ Her frown deepened. ‘You think I’m getting fat?’

  He kissed her, to shut her up more than anything else. She returned the kiss, then pushed him away. ‘If ever you think I’m getting fat, you tell me, okay?’

  ‘Okay,’ he said.

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘I promise.’

  ‘Good,’ she said, and settled down next to him. She was silent for a while, other than her soft breathing, and he began to wonder if she’d fallen asleep. ‘Why does she think your name is Jeff?’ she said eventually.

  Shepherd stiffened. ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘She kept asking for Jeff.’

  Shepherd’s heart began to pound. ‘What do you mean, baby?’

  ‘She called. She kept asking for Jeff.’

  ‘What do you mean she called?’

  ‘About fifteen minutes after she sent the text message. She called and I answered.’

  ‘You answered my phone?’ He shook his head. ‘Oh, no, baby, please don’t tell me you answered my phone.’

  ‘I didn’t speak to her. I hung up.’

  ‘Oh, shit.’

  ‘’I didn’t say anything to her, Dan. She just kept saying Jeff and then I hung up.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have done that, baby.’

  ‘I just wanted to hear her voice, that’s all. I thought you were having an affair,’

  ‘Well, I’m not. She’s a case. A job. And by answering the phone …’

  She sat up. ‘What? What have I done?’

  Shepherd forced a smile. ‘Nothing. It’s okay.’

  ‘I didn’t say anything to her, Dan.’

  ‘I know. It’s all good.’

  She reached over and hugged him, burying her face in his neck. ‘I’m so sorry, I should have trusted you.’

  Shepherd hugged her back. Yes, she should have trusted him. And she shouldn’t have answered his phone. If it was just Lisa calling, then probably no damage had been done. Lisa might wonder who had answered the phone, but so long as Katra hadn’t said anything, he could come up with an explanation. What worried him most was if Meyer found out that she had called him. Meyer would be watching her closely and might well be monitoring her phone. If he got suspicious he might track Shepherd’s phone. It was a pay-as-you-go throwaway so it wouldn’t give him any information but it wouldn’t be too hard for him to get information on the phone’s location. He might only be able to pin it down to the nearest cellphone tower but even that would be a problem. He was supposed to be en route to St Lucia and Taylor lived in Portsmouth, how would he explain that he was in Hereford? The whole case was in danger of unravelling, and all because he’d left his phone on the kitchen table.

  ‘I love you, Dan,’ she whispered.

  ‘I love you too. For ever.’

  She kissed his neck, then his lips. He kissed her back, then she pushed him down on the bed and rolled on top of him. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

  ‘You don’t have to apologise for anything.’

  ‘I’m an idiot.’

  He laughed. ‘No, you’re not.’

  She started kissing him again and he stopped laughing.

  Meyer topped up Lucy’s glass and poured the last of the Cristal champagne into his own. He had changed into a white linen suit and black silk shirt but was still wearing gleaming white Nikes. He looked at his watch. ‘I’m just going to hit the head and then we’ll be off,’ he said.

  He went below deck and along to Lucy’s cabin. Her phone was on the bed. He’d known her password for weeks and he tapped it in. He checked her call log and frowned when he saw Jeff Taylor’s number. ‘Hello, hello, hello,’ he muttered to himself. He checked her messages and smiled as he read the texts she’d sent. ‘Naughty girl,’ he whispered.

  Katra kissed Shepherd, then ran her hand down his chest and between his legs. ‘Round two?’ she asked.

  Shepherd chuckled. ‘Maybe after dinner and a couple of hours’ sleep,’ he said.

  ‘You’re bored with me already!’ she said, and rolled over to gaze up at the ceiling. ‘I knew it! It’s only been a year but you’re already fed up.’ She sighed theatrically, then drummed her feet on the bed.

  Shepherd laughed and reached over to hug her. ‘I’ll never be bored with you,’ he said. ‘But I’m knackered. I’ve been flying around the world from one hotel to another, plus I’ve been sailing.’

  ‘Sailing?’

  ‘Catamarans.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘To get close to this bad guy.’

  She ran her fingers down his arm and stopped when she felt the cut there. ‘What’s that?’ she said.

  ‘Nothing.’

  She sat up and made him show it to her. ‘How did you do it?’

  Shepherd didn’t want to lie, but if he told her the truth she’d be scared and worried. ‘I did it at the marina,’ he said. ‘A stupid accident.’ It was almost the truth, not quite a lie, he told himself. He had made a career out of lying but he hated lying to the people he loved.

  ‘It looks bad,’ she said.

  ‘It’s a scratch,’ he said.

  She lay down again and he held her. ‘So what are you cooking?’ he asked.

  ‘Don’t change the subject.’

  ‘I didn’t realise there was a subject.’

  ‘You’re very good at doing that,’ said Katra.

  ‘Doing what?’

  ‘Changing the subject.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  She stroked his chest. ‘I get worried sometimes. When you’re away. That’s all.’

  ‘I know. I’m sorry. But it’s the nature of the job. There aren’t many big villains in Hereford. I have to go where they are.’

  ‘Don’t you ever get fed up?’

  ‘With the job?’ He shook his head. ‘I love it, Katra. It’s what I am.’

  She sighed. ‘I know.’ She kissed his shoulder. ‘And don’t worry, I’ll never try to change you. You’ll just have to put up with my insecurities.’

  ‘I can do that,’ said Shepherd. He rolled on top of her. ‘It’s not that hard.’

  She reached between his legs and giggled. ‘Yes, it is,’ she said, and kissed him.

  If MI5 were on his case, Standing knew he’d be better off not taking public transport. He used his smartphone to log on to Craigslist and found a Yamaha 125cc trail bike for sale in Croydon. It was three years old and, from the photographs, it had been well looked after. It was a private sale so he phoned and arranged to go down to look at it. The seller was a guy in his early twenties who had just bought his first car and was looking for a quick sale. Standing borrowed the man’s full-face helmet and drove up and down the road, checking the acceleration and the gears. It seemed fine so he paid the asking price in cash. The seller was so pleased he threw in the helmet and a pair of gloves.

  Standing didn’t have a licence but he’d ridden plenty of bikes in the SAS. He drove back to King’s Cross and into the alley behind the hotel but decided it wasn’t a safe place to leave it. He took it to a multi-storey car park close to the station and left it there. On the way back to the hotel he popped into an Oxfam shop and bought a second-hand leather motorcycle jacket, then picked up some more sandwiches, another bucket of KFC and half a dozen bottles of beer, then went back to his hotel. He spent the rest of the night in his room, watching mind-numbing game shows and drinking his way through the beer.

  Shepherd’s phone rang, jolting him awake. Katra was curled up next to him and murmured in her sleep. He had put his personal phone and his Jeff Taylor phone on the bedside table and it was the Taylor phone that was ringing. It was Marcus Meyer. Shepherd untangled himself from Katra, slid out of the bed and padded onto the landing before answering.

  ‘Jeff?’ asked Meyer.

  ‘Yeah, what’s up?’

  ‘Are you in St Lucia?’

  ‘Nah, mate. On my way.’

  ‘Yeah? So where are you?’

  Shepherd gritted his teeth. He didn’t want to tell Meyer where he was, but there was a possibility that he already knew. If he’d found out that Lisa had phoned him it would have been easy for him to get the location of his phone. And if Meyer caught him out in a lie – even an innocuous one – it would destroy what trust had been built up. ‘Hereford,’ he said.

  ‘Hereford? What the fuck are you doing in Hereford?’

  Meyer sounded surprised but Shepherd had the feeling he was faking it. ‘My aunt’s had a bad fall,’ he said. ‘I was on my way to Portsmouth when the hospital called. She’s broken her hip and the NHS was no bloody help so I’ve been arranging a private hospital for her. It’s all sorted, and I’m on my way to St Lucia now. What about you?’

  ‘We’re flying today,’ said Meyer. ‘You need to get a move on. We don’t want the boat hanging around for too long.’

  ‘I’ll be flying out tomorrow, hopefully,’ said Shepherd. ‘The day after at the latest. Sorry about this but she’s pretty much my only relative.’

  ‘It’s all right, family’s family. But soon as you can, yeah?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Shepherd.

  Meyer ended the call. Shepherd frowned as he replayed the conversation in his head. Had Meyer known where he was? Shepherd was fairly sure that he did. So Meyer was checking up on him. That was probably a good thing: it showed that Meyer was ready to move forward. But had Meyer believed his story about a sick aunt?

  He realised that Katra was standing at the bedroom door watching him. ‘Was that your girlfriend?’ she asked.

  ‘It was the target,’ he said. ‘He wants to know where I am.’

  ‘Is it because I answered your phone?’

  ‘Maybe,’ he said.

  She hurried over to him and hugged him. ‘I’m sorry.’

  He stroked her back and kissed the top of her head. ‘It’s okay.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Of course,’ he said, though he wished he felt as confident as he sounded. Meyer had been testing him, he was sure of that. The big question was, had he passed? The only way he would know for sure was when he met the man in St Lucia.

  ‘Shall I make you breakfast?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Shepherd. He kissed the top of her head again.

  Shepherd shaved and showered while Katra went downstairs to the kitchen. By the time he’d dressed she was buttering toast to go with the eggs, bacon, sausages and tomato she’d cooked, and there was a mug of steaming coffee on the kitchen table. He brought the two phones with him and put them on the table while he ate. He was biting into his second piece of toast when his personal phone rang. It was Major Gannon. ‘The therapist who’s helping Matt Standing, her name is Sharon Doyle and she has an office in Harley Street.’

  ‘Brilliant, thanks,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘She’s filed two reports already, and both are very supportive.’

  ‘Supportive?’

  ‘According to Dr Doyle, Standing is showing great progress. He’s coming to an understanding of the issues he has regarding his anger management, and is responding well to treatment.’

  ‘Treatment? Medication, you mean?’

  ‘Exercises. Basically she’s teaching him to count to ten.’ He chuckled. ‘Which for the SAS is no mean achievement. So where are you?’

  ‘Still at home, but I’m off to St Lucia ASAP,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘Nice work, if you can get it,’ said the Major. ‘Or are you on holiday with the lovely Katra?’

  ‘It’s work,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘Feel free to take me on as a consultant any time you want,’ said the Major.

  ‘I’ll add you to the list, boss,’ said Shepherd. He ended the call, phoned Willoughby-Brown and passed on the therapist details the Major had given him.

  ‘And this Dr Doyle says Standing has his anger under control?’ said Willoughby-Brown.

  ‘That’s what I’m told.’

  ‘She clearly doesn’t know what he’s doing,’ said Willoughby-Brown.

  ‘I’ve got a mobile number for Standing.’

  ‘Excellent. Let me have it.’

  Shepherd dictated the number. ‘Now what?’ he asked. ‘Do you need anything else?’

  ‘You can head off to St Lucia for your meet with Meyer,’ said Willoughby-Brown.

  ‘He called today, said he’s on his way.’

  ‘Do you want me to arrange back-up?’

  ‘I don’t think so. We’ll be on a boat again so any back-up will be too far away to be any use. What’s going to happen about Standing?’

  ‘I can take care of it, Daniel, but thank you for your concern.’

  ‘Don’t underestimate him,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘Don’t worry. I won’t.’

  He ended the call. Katra was watching him and he could see the concern on her face. ‘It’s just work,’ he said.

  ‘Is everything okay?’

  ‘It’s fine.’

  ‘And you have to go to St Lucia?’

  ‘Just for a day or two.’

  ‘And you’ll see that girl?’

  ‘It’s work, baby.’ He reached over and ruffled her hair. ‘I’m not interested in anyone else.’

  ‘You swear?’

  He looked into her eyes. ‘I swear.’

  Standing found a place to leave his bike in a side-street where he had a reasonable view of the door that led up to the minicab office. He parked up at just before lunchtime and kept his helmet on. He sat on the bike and switched into surveillance mode, his body inactive most of the time but his eyes and ears constantly on alert. Drivers came and went. Customers made their way up the stairs and would return a few minutes later, either with drivers or to meet a car down the road. So far as he could tell, no one else was watching the office. A BT Openreach van parked up for about half an hour but the West Indian technician went inside one of the shops and returned twenty minutes before driving off. Cars and vans stopped, but none remained for more than half an hour, and there were no pedestrians lurking.

  From where he was sitting he couldn’t see any observers in the upper-floor windows overlooking the cab office. That didn’t mean they weren’t there, of course, but he did several walk-bys still wearing his helmet and was fairly sure that there was no surveillance in place.

  He popped into a café, bought a ham and cheese sandwich and ate it while sitting on the bike, washing it down with a coffee. There was no sign of Ali Hussain, but the man wasn’t a driver so probably didn’t leave the office during his shift.

  At just after four o’clock two young girls in school uniforms walked along the pavement and headed up the stairs to the minicab office. Standing kept a close watch on the entrance but it was more than an hour before they came out, this time accompanied by two young Asian men. One was a teenager, tall and good-looking, and had his arm around one of the girls. She was blonde and pretty, and though she had on make-up and was wearing high heels, Standing doubted she was more than sixteen. The other girl was shorter and plumper with brown hair. Like the blonde, she had plastered her face with make-up so it was hard to judge her age exactly, but she was young.

  The two Asians guided the schoolgirls to a grey Toyota Prius. The young guy got in the back with the blonde and the other sat the brunette in the front passenger seat, then got behind the wheel. Two other Asians, middle-aged, bearded and wearing Puffa jackets, came down the stairs and headed for another Prius.

  None of them was the one he was looking for, but Standing had a bad feeling about what was going on. He started the engine, flipped down the helmet’s visor and put the bike in gear.

  The two cars pulled away from the kerb and Standing followed. They headed north, eventually turning left on the North Circular Road towards Wembley Stadium. They turned right, then left again. Standing held back, not wanting to get too close. The cars headed north. For a while they drove along a road of detached houses, most of which were in a state of disrepair, then they slowed. The Prius with the two girls on board parked outside a house that had been painted dark green with a bright blue door. A thick, badly trimmed hedge bordered the pavement and the front garden had been gravelled over for parking. There were already two vehicles in the driveway – a van with the name of an Asian halal butcher on the side and a battered Volvo estate filled with cardboard boxes. Standing slowed as he drove by. The two Asian men climbed out of the car and waved for the girls to follow them. The blonde got out and stood by the car, swaying unsteadily. The other girl seemed to be refusing to get out. One of the Asians leaned into the car and began to pull her. The other Prius reversed into a parking space on the other side of the street.

  A car beeped at Standing and he accelerated away. He drove a hundred yards further on, then turned left and found a parking space. He locked the bike and walked back to the house, keeping his helmet and gloves on.

  The two men had taken the girls inside. Night was falling and the streetlights were already on. As Standing flipped up the visor of his helmet and looked up at the house, the front bedroom light went on behind closed blinds. He glanced up and down the road, wondering what to do. What was happening to the two young girls was none of his business. He could call the police but he doubted they would do anything. Part of him, the rational part, knew he should just get back on his bike and go back to King’s Cross. But the emotional part, the part that hated injustice and wanted revenge for what had happened to his sister, was itching to storm inside the house and wreak havoc on the men there.

  The emotional part won and Standing walked down the driveway at the side of the house. There was an overgrown garden at the rear, with a rusting car up on bricks and bags of rubbish that had been ripped open by cats or foxes. Standing looked up at the house. Another light showed in one of the rear bedrooms, but the lights were all off downstairs.

  Standing went to the kitchen door. It was unlocked so he opened it and slipped inside to be met by a strong smell of curry and stale onions. There was enough moonlight coming in through the window for him to see that the oven didn’t appear to have been cleaned in years. There were piles of dirty crockery in the sink and a small kitchen table covered with old takeaway containers.

 

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