Standing walked softly across the kitchen. The floor tiles were sticky and pulled at the soles of his shoes as he moved down the hall. He heard noises from the bedrooms. He reached the bottom of the stairs and put a gloved hand on the banister.

  He went slowly up the stairs, keeping to the wall to minimise any creaking. As he reached the top he was faced with four doors leading off a long landing. The door to his left was open and he could hear a bed creaking and men talking in hushed voices. The door to his far right was also wide open. It was a bathroom – he glimpsed marble and a shower cubicle. He heard a toilet flush and then an Asian man walked out, buttoning the fly of his jeans. His mouth dropped open when he saw Standing, who moved quickly: he strode along the landing, grabbed the guy by the throat and pushed him back into the bathroom. He back-heeled the door shut and banged the man’s head against the marble wall. There was a sickening crunch and the fight went out of the Asian immediately. Standing slammed him against the wall a second time and this time the man went limp. Standing lowered him to the floor.

  He went to the door, opened it and peered out. The landing was still empty. The next door was slightly ajar. Standing pushed it open slowly. There were three figures on the bed. The blonde girl, now naked, and two Asians, one of whom had been holding the girl outside the minicab office. He had taken off his trousers but was still wearing his shirt. The other was bearded and in his sixties. He had also dropped his trousers and kept his shirt on. The girl was on her hands and knees between them. The younger man was pounding into her from behind, his hands gripping her slim white hips, while the older man was pushing himself into her mouth. ‘Come on, you bitch, open your mouth wider!’ he urged, pulling her hair towards him. He sneered down at the girl, showing grey teeth.

  A hot rage washed over Standing and he pushed the door wide, crossed to the bed in three quick steps and punched the younger man in the side of the head with all his strength. He staggered off the bed and hit the wall. Standing followed him and punched him twice in the stomach with his gloved fists, left and right, then as the man doubled over, he punched him in the back of the neck. The Asian twitched and went still.

  Standing straightened. The older man was staring open-mouthed at him but his hips were still moving back and forth. Standing’s rage intensified. He hated the man for the way he was abusing the girl, treating her as if she was a piece of meat. Her back was to Standing so she had no idea what was happening around her.

  It took Standing two steps to reach the man and less than a second to punch him in the face so hard that his nose was flattened completely. Blood gushed down his face and he fell back, his head striking the wall. The girl fell forward into his lap.

  Standing walked quickly to the door, checked that the landing was still empty, and headed out. The next door was shut and he walked past it. The muttering was louder now, and there was the occasional cheer. He looked around the door into the room. The bedroom was twice the size of the one he’d just been in, with a king-size bed. Six men standing with their backs to him, watching another have sex with the young brunette. She was naked and the man on top of her had only pulled down his pants to his knees. His backside was thrusting up and down and he was trying to kiss her but she was thrashing her head from side to side. She wasn’t crying out and her eyes were open and blank. Something had dulled her senses, either drink or drugs, or maybe she was just trying to blot out the horror of what was happening to her.

  The blinds had been drawn and the only light came from a small red lamp on a bedside table. There was a single pillow on which the girl was resting her head. The rest of the bedding had been tossed onto the floor.

  One man turned and his mouth opened in surprise when he saw Standing, who grabbed him by the throat, punched him in the face, then turned and slammed him against the wall by the door. The rest of the men heard the commotion and spun round. Standing smashed the man in the face, then swivelled. There were now five men facing him, plus the one on the bed.

  One was holding up an iPhone, filming what was happening. He was young, early twenties maybe, with a straggly beard and bushy eyebrows. As he turned towards Standing he was still holding the phone up high, still focused on the screen. Standing grabbed it with his left hand and punched the man in the throat. He slumped to his knees, clasping his neck with both hands. Standing punched him in the side of the head and he went down, out like a light.

  The helmet was hampering Standing’s vision so he pulled it off, just in time to see a middle-aged Asian lunging towards him with a wicked-looking knife. He slammed the helmet against the man’s hand. As the knife fell to the floor, he swung the helmet again, this time catching the man under the chin. His head snapped back and his eyes rolled upwards. Standing hit him a third time, slamming the helmet against the side of his head and he fell like a dead weight.

  Two middle-aged Asians, both wearing baggy pants and long shirts, with knitted skullcaps on their heads, rushed towards Standing with their arms outstretched, their yellow fingernails curved like talons. Standing moved towards his nearest attacker, ducked, grabbed his thighs and threw him over his shoulder, slamming him against the wall behind him. The second seized Standing’s arm but there was little strength in his grip. Standing broke away and slashed the man across the throat with the side of his hand, splintering the trachea. He dropped to his knees, fighting to breathe. Standing kicked him in the head, knocking him senseless. He was operating on autopilot, reacting instinctively.

  Standing heard a scream to his right, and as he turned, a young Asian kicked out at him. The blow landed but there was no strength in it and the foot bounced off his hip. The Asian frowned in disbelief as if he couldn’t understand why Standing wasn’t in pain. Standing punched him under the chin and he went down without a sound. Less than ten seconds had passed since Standing had entered the room and six men were now lying unconscious on the floor.

  The man who had been having sex with the girl rolled off the bed. He was naked and his pendulous belly hung over his private parts, like a late pregnancy. There was saliva on his beard and his chest glistened with sweat. ‘Please, sir, I am an old man …’ he spluttered, waving his hands in front of him. Standing felt the anger flare deep inside him and he struck the man in the face with the helmet. He staggered back, blood splattering, and Standing kicked him between the legs with all the force he could muster. The man’s feet left the ground and he crashed against the wall. As he slowly slid to the floor, a streak of blood smeared down the wallpaper.

  Standing walked over to the bed. The brunette was naked, her legs apart and her head turned to the side. Standing wasn’t sure if she had passed out or if she was just blocking out what was happening. There was a quilt on the floor and he picked it up and draped it over her. She groaned and stared at him with unseeing eyes. Standing picked up the phone that had been used to record her being raped. On the way downstairs he dialled 999. When the operator answered he told her that two girls were being attacked and gave her the address. He said an ambulance was required but when she asked for his name he tossed the phone under the hedge as he walked out of the driveway. He continued along the pavement to his bike. As he drove away he heard police sirens in the distance.

  Shepherd took the train from Hereford to London, then a taxi from Paddington station to the rented flat he’d been using while running the north London surveillance operation. The milk in the fridge had gone off so he made himself a cup of black coffee and flopped down in front of the TV. He found it difficult to concentrate, and after he’d finished his coffee, he paced up and down in front of the sofa. Something about the Matt Standing case didn’t feel right. Standing was clearly a good soldier, albeit with a tendency to fly off the handle. Shepherd could understand why the SAS wanted him to undergo therapy – that made perfect sense – but it didn’t make sense that Standing would then run riot in London. And if he had killed a civilian, why hadn’t the police arrested him? It also didn’t make sense that Standing would come all the way back to the UK to kill an Asian when he was being paid to do just that in Syria. Shepherd was sure that Willoughby-Brown wasn’t telling him the whole story, which was par for the course where his boss was concerned.

  There was a bond between the men of the SAS that went far beyond comradeship. They were a family and, like all families, there might be arguments and even fights, but at the end of the day they stuck together, no matter what. Though he’d never met Standing, he was a brother-in-arms and you didn’t betray a brother. Shepherd picked up one of his throwaway mobiles, hesitated for a few seconds, then tapped out Standing’s number.

  ‘Hello.’

  Shepherd hesitated again. Willoughby-Brown had Standing’s number and might already be monitoring it. ‘Matt?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You don’t know me but we need to talk. Urgently. Can you get to Trafalgar Square at nine o’clock?’

  ‘Who is this?’

  ‘Just be there. Near the lions.’ Shepherd ended the call. Trafalgar Square was a safe place for a meeting because there were always tourists milling around. But it was also a place where followers could easily blend into the background. If Standing was already under surveillance, they’d have to throw in a few counter-surveillance moves before they could talk.

  He grabbed a raincoat, let himself out of the flat and caught a black cab to Charing Cross station, arriving at seven forty-five. He walked along the Strand until he had a clear view of Nelson’s Column and the four massive bronze lions around it. He wasn’t sure how Standing would be getting there so he continued walking until he was in Northumberland Avenue. That way he could watch the square and see anyone coming from the station.

  He realised he had made the right call when he saw Standing walk out of the Tube station. He was wearing a parka with a fur-lined hood and had his head down but Shepherd saw his face when he looked up to cross the road into the square. He waited until Standing had reached Nelson’s Column before calling him. ‘Matt, okay, I need you to go down into Charing Cross Tube station. Bakerloo line. Northbound platform.’

  ‘Why can’t we meet here?’ asked Standing, looking around.

  ‘Because I want to check that you’re not being followed. If you are, I’ll be off.’

  ‘Who do you think is following me?’

  ‘Let’s worry about that later. Just walk across the square and I’ll introduce myself on the platform. If I’m not there within ten minutes you’ll know there’s a problem. Find somewhere quiet above ground and call me back.’

  ‘Who the fuck are you?’

  ‘One step at a time, Matt,’ said Shepherd, and ended the call.

  Shepherd watched as Standing headed for the Tube station. He was looking around as he walked, casually but covering all areas of the square, obviously looking for a tail. Shepherd was further along the Strand, ahead of him. He kept his phone pressed to his ear and pretended to be having a conversation. He reached the Tube station before Standing and went down, then turned towards the southbound platform and waited for Standing to come down the escalator.

  As soon as Standing had walked onto the northbound platform, Shepherd followed him. He walked slowly up to Standing and smiled when Standing looked his way. ‘Stay calm, Matt, I’m the guy who called you.’

  Standing frowned. ‘Do you know me?’

  ‘I know you, but you don’t know me,’ said Shepherd. ‘I used be in the Sass.’

  ‘The Regiment sent you? What the fuck’s going on?’

  A train arrived. ‘Come on,’ said Shepherd, taking a quick look around before getting on. Standing followed and the doors rattled shut. There was only one other person in the carriage, an elderly woman deep in an eReader. They sat well away from her.

  ‘What the hell’s going on?’ asked Standing. ‘Who are you and what do you want?’

  ‘I was asked to run a check on you. By MI5.’

  ‘Fucking spooks.’

  ‘They think you’ve gone rogue. They say you’re killing Asians and beating up cops. And that you put two MI5 officers in hospital.’

  ‘They attacked me. And the business with the cops was self-defence. If I’d broken the law, I would have been charged.’

  ‘Yeah, I wondered about that.’

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘My name’s Shepherd.’

  Standing’s eyes widened. ‘Spider Shepherd? Fuck me, you’re a legend.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I’d appreciate it if you’d keep that to yourself. I’m not supposed to be talking to you.’

  ‘What did they tell you?’

  ‘Just that you went rogue.’

  ‘And are you supposed to stop me?’

  Shepherd shook his head. ‘They just wanted intel.’

  ‘And you gave it to them?’

  ‘It’s my job.’

  Standing gritted his teeth, then visibly relaxed. ‘Yeah, I guess so. We all have to do shit work at some point, I suppose. So why are you here?’

  ‘Because you and me, we’re maybe not the same but we’re similar. We’ve got a lot in common. And if the shit was about to hit my fan, I’d appreciate a heads up.’

  ‘So that’s what this is? A heads up?’

  ‘You put two MI5 guys in hospital. Next time you might not be so lucky.’

  ‘If they don’t touch me, I won’t touch them.’

  ‘Yeah, well, that’s not how it works. Can’t you call it a day?’

  ‘Do you know what’s happened? What did they tell you?’

  ‘Not much. Just what you’d done and that they wanted it stopped.’

  They arrived at the next station. Piccadilly Circus. The doors rattled open and two teenage girls got on, sharing a set of earphones plugged into an iPhone. They sat well away from Shepherd and Standing. The doors closed and the train sped off again.

  ‘They killed my sister, Spider. They got her hooked on heroin and then they gave her an overdose.’

  ‘Who did?’

  ‘A fucking Asian grooming gang. I can show you pictures, video, the fucking works. They groom them and then they fuck them. If they step out of line they fucking kill them.’

  ‘The Asian that died?’

  ‘Was one of them. He was the one that groomed her. Now I’m trying to get the guy who gave her the heroin. I know who he is and I know he did it because I’ve got the texts he sent to Faisal.’

  Shepherd was stunned, wondering why Jeremy Willoughby-Brown had got involved in this can of worms.

  ‘I was at a place tonight where a gang of them were raping two young girls. They’re sick fucks, Spider, and I’m not backing down. You can’t stop me doing what needs to be done.’

  ‘I told you already, I won’t be the one to stop you.’

  Standing shrugged. ‘That’s good to know.’

  Shepherd’s eyes hardened. ‘If I did try to stop you, what then?’

  Standing shrugged again. ‘Like I said, you’re a legend. But you’re fifteen years older than me and I’m just back from Syria. You wouldn’t want to take me, Spider.’

  Shepherd smiled. ‘Yeah, well, hopefully, we’ll never know. If you’ve got evidence, why didn’t you go to the police?’

  ‘Tried that. They’d been told to lay off. By MI5.’

  Shepherd frowned. ‘That doesn’t make any sense.’

  ‘No, it makes sense, all right. I think there’s a major anti-terrorism operation going on and they don’t want me making waves.’

  Shepherd rubbed the back of his neck. It was possible, he supposed. It wasn’t unusual for two agencies to target the same individual and at some point one would agree to play second fiddle. But Shepherd couldn’t see how any operation – even one involving terrorists – would supersede rape and murder.

  ‘So you hear where I’m coming from, right?’

  Shepherd nodded. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘So what happens next?’

  ‘I get off at the next station and we go our separate ways,’ said Shepherd. ‘What happens then is up to you. I just wanted to mark your card.’

  ‘And I appreciate that,’ said Standing. ‘Consider it marked.’

  The train slowed as it approached the next station. Shepherd stood up and offered his hand. Standing shook it. ‘Thanks,’ he said.

  ‘Be lucky,’ said Shepherd.

  The train stopped at Leicester Square, the doors opened, and Shepherd got off. He didn’t look around as the train sped into the tunnel.

  As he rode the up escalator at Oxford Circus, Standing opened his smartphone and pulled out the SIM card. He broke it in half and tossed it into the gutter when he reached street level. He knew enough about telephone surveillance to realise that the security services were able to track his phone, no matter what SIM card was in it, so he had to get rid of that, too. He dropped it into a litter bin. He kept looking over his shoulder and didn’t think he was being followed, but having met Spider Shepherd he was even more on his guard.

  When you were on a mission and you were spotted, more often than not the sensible decision was to pull out. Confrontation often led to casualties. But there were times when pulling out was not an option and this was one of them. There was no backing down from what he intended to do. He was going to have his revenge for the death of his sister, one way or another.

  Shepherd arrived at Gatwick airport early in the morning and had breakfast in the Virgin Clubhouse lounge. His phone rang just as he was drinking a second cup of coffee. It was Willoughby-Brown. ‘Where are you?’ he asked.

  ‘Airport,’ said Shepherd. ‘Boarding soon.’

  ‘Just so you know, Standing went on the rampage again. He killed two Asians in Wembley and put another half-dozen in hospital.’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘You think I’d joke about something like that?’

  ‘He killed two people?’

  ‘Beat them to death.’

  ‘When did this happen?’

  ‘Early yesterday evening.’

 

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