As Shepherd walked towards the front door of the detached house, a man in a Burberry trenchcoat stepped from the side of the building. Shepherd raised his hands to show that he wasn’t armed. ‘Shepherd,’ he said. ‘Willoughby-Brown’s expecting me.’

  The man was wearing a Bluetooth headset and said something into it, listened and nodded, then waved at Shepherd to approach the door.

  There was a brass lion’s head knocker and an electric doorbell. Shepherd pressed the bell twice. He heard footsteps and the door opened. It was Willoughby-Brown, wearing a dark overcoat that looked like made-to-measure cashmere. He also had a Bluetooth headset in his right ear. As Shepherd went inside, the guard went back to his position.

  ‘What’s going on, Jeremy?’ asked Shepherd, as Willoughby-Brown closed the front door behind him. They were in a large hallway, with doors to left and right. At the top of the wooden staircase another man, in a raincoat, was watching them with cold eyes.

  ‘Come through,’ said Willoughby-Brown. ‘The kettle’s on.’

  Shepherd followed him down the hallway to a kitchen that appeared to be stuck in the fifties, with old-fashioned units, a Formica-topped table and an electric oven that was spotlessly clean but streaked with rust. The floor was linoleum in a checked pattern that had worn through in places.

  The kettle was boiling and there were two chipped mugs, each with a teabag in it. Willoughby-Brown poured in hot water and took a carton of milk from the fridge. He sniffed it warily before adding a splash to both mugs. ‘There’s sugar if you want it,’ he said, pointing at a bag with a spoon sticking out of it.

  ‘What is this place?’ asked Shepherd, dropping his kitbag on the floor. ‘A safe house?’

  Willoughby-Brown nodded. ‘Old-school,’ he said. ‘It was used for debriefings and interrogations right through the fifties and sixties. It’s still on the books but very few people know about it. These days, I’m pretty much the only one who uses it.’ He swirled the teabags in the mugs, fished them out and dropped them into the sink. He added two spoonfuls of sugar to his, stirred, sipped and grimaced. He nodded at the table. ‘Take the weight off your feet.’

  ‘I’ve been in a plane for getting on nine hours so I’ll stand,’ said Shepherd. ‘Why am I here?’

  Willoughby-Brown tapped his Bluetooth. ‘Yes, go ahead,’ he said, turning his back on Shepherd. He nodded as he listened, said, ‘Yes,’ a few more times, then ended the call and sat down. Shepherd leaned against the door frame. ‘You don’t want your tea?’ asked Willoughby-Brown.

  ‘I just want to know what’s going on,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘As I told you on the phone, while you were away Standing went on the rampage. He attacked the MI5 team we sent to bring him in. One of our guys has lost a spleen. Another’s knee is broken so badly he’s going to need a replacement.’

  ‘They were trying to pick him up, you said. With guns.’

  ‘He’d already assaulted two of my men in Hyde Park so, yes, they were armed.’

  ‘But you can see why that might provoke a response.’

  ‘Are you serious?’ spluttered Willoughby-Brown. ‘He attacks a group of your colleagues and you think he might have been provoked?’

  Shepherd put up his hands in apology. ‘I just wanted to get a feel for what’s going on, that’s all.’

  ‘What’s going on? I’ll tell you what’s going on. Former Sergeant Standing has gone rogue and he’s put the fear of God into Ali Hussain.’

  ‘Ali Hussain? Who’s he?’

  ‘He’s one of our agents. Standing has been around to see him, which is one of the reasons we’re here. Hussain wants our protection and he has intel about a forthcoming terrorist attack.’

  ‘So, two birds with one stone? That’s convenient.’

  Willoughby-Brown’s eyes narrowed. ‘What do you mean?’

  Shepherd shrugged. ‘Nothing. Just commenting. So where is this Ali Hussain?’

  Willoughby-Brown looked at his watch. ‘He should be here any moment.’

  ‘For a debriefing?’

  ‘That, and protection. Standing was outside his house. Hussain’s gone to stay with a friend and is on his way.’

  ‘He spotted Standing? In the street?’

  ‘You sound like you don’t believe him.’

  Shepherd wrinkled his nose. ‘Standing should be good enough at surveillance not to show out,’ he said. ‘But maybe Hussain was being extra careful. So why didn’t he come straight here?’

  Willoughby-Brown sighed. ‘I don’t know. He called last night.’

  ‘Why not just send your people around and pick him up straight away?’

  ‘Because he doesn’t want anyone to know that he talks to us, obviously,’ said Willoughby-Brown, dismissively. ‘If he suddenly gets into a car with two white men in dark suits, people are going to notice. Look, he’s one of the best sources we’ve got. He’s the real thing. He’s like Father Christmas – he knows who’s naughty and who’s nice and is happy to share that information with us.’

  ‘Happy? Because you pay him?’

  Willoughby-Brown shook his head. ‘He’s a concerned citizen. He loves this country and despises those who want to create havoc here.’

  Willoughby-Brown’s phone rang and he tapped his Bluetooth headset. He listened, then cursed under his breath. ‘When?’ he asked. He screwed up his face as he heard the answer, then ended the call. ‘Ali Hussain is dead,’ he said. ‘Somebody wrapped a plastic bag around his head last night.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘His flat. He was probably killed not long after he made the call to me.’ He stamped his foot, hard. ‘That bastard Standing. I’ll make sure he rots in jail for this.’ His face was flushed and his nostrils flared as he paced up and down the kitchen. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck,’ he said. He touched his Bluetooth headset again. ‘Tell everyone to stand down. He’s not coming. This has all been a waste of time.’ He listened for a few seconds. ‘Yes, back to the office. I’ll have my car pick me up. Debriefing at two o’clock this afternoon. No, wait, make that four. I’ve got a two o’clock meeting.’

  He ended the call and lit one of his small cigars. ‘This is so fucked up.’ He opened the kitchen door and walked outside.

  Shepherd joined him. He nodded at the cigar. ‘Health and safety? Can’t smoke indoors?’

  ‘It’s a place of work,’ he said, ‘and the cleaners have been known to complain.’ He blew smoke at the ground. ‘Fuck,’ he said. ‘Isn’t it amazing how quickly things can turn to shit?’

  ‘So you think Standing killed this Hussain?’

  Willoughby-Brown sneered at him. ‘Of course. What – you think he suddenly decided to kill himself? Standing must have been there when he heard Hussain phone for help. Killed him before he could get to the safe house.’

  ‘Hussain told you he was staying with a friend?’

  ‘That’s what he said.’

  ‘How could Standing be at the friend’s house?’

  Willoughby-Brown’s eyes narrowed. ‘What are you getting at?’

  ‘I’m just trying to make sense of all this,’ Shepherd said. ‘You never told me why Standing went after Hussain.’

  ‘Who knows what’s going through his head?’

  ‘He hates Muslims, is that it? Killed them out in Syria and now wants to kill them here?’ Shepherd watched Willoughby-Brown carefully to see how he would react. They both knew why Standing was after Hussain. But Willoughby-Brown didn’t know that Shepherd had spoken to Standing, or that Shepherd knew exactly why Standing was on the rampage – knew and empathised.

  Willoughby-Brown stared at his cigar, then took a long drag and blew smoke. He didn’t answer the question.

  The man who had met Shepherd came around the side of the house and spoke to Willoughby-Brown: ‘We’re heading off, sir,’ he said. ‘Are you okay to lock up or do you want me to do it?’

  ‘I’ll do it,’ said Willoughby-Brown, and the man handed him a set of keys. A short while later they heard car doors open, slam shut and the vehicle drive off.

  Willoughby-Brown concentrated on his cigar. ‘He’s no idea what he’s done,’ he said eventually. ‘Hussain was one of the best sources of intel we had in north London. We’re not going to be able to replace him.’

  ‘I doubt that,’ said Shepherd. ‘There are plenty of Muslims who hate the jihadists as much as we do.’

  ‘Ali Hussain was the gold standard. The best. Standing has no idea of the damage he’s done.’

  ‘Maybe he does,’ said Shepherd. ‘Maybe he just doesn’t care.’

  ‘The more you talk about him, the more it sounds to me as if you’re on his side.’

  ‘It’s not about sides,’ said Shepherd. ‘But have you tried looking at it from Standing’s point of view?’

  Willoughby-Brown frowned as if he hadn’t understood the question. He took another drag on his cigar.

  ‘You haven’t been honest with me from the start, have you, Jeremy?’ said Shepherd. ‘Did you think I wouldn’t find out the real reason why Standing hates Hussain’s guts? Why he wanted him dead?’

  ‘Why don’t you enlighten me, Daniel?’ said Willoughby-Brown, quietly.

  Shepherd gritted his teeth, knowing he had already said too much. But he hated the way Willoughby-Brown was trying to manipulate him. Trust was the most important commodity in undercover work and Shepherd no longer trusted Willoughby-Brown. He was fairly sure their relationship was now damaged beyond all repair, so he had nothing to lose by putting all his cards on the table. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Maybe I should do just that.’

  Standing breathed slowly and evenly as he watched the two men standing near the house. Shepherd wasn’t happy about something – his body language alone told Standing that. He had no doubt that the man with the cigar was the one Hussain knew as George. That wouldn’t be his real name, of course. MI5 officers never used their real names. But Standing was sure that the man Shepherd was talking to was responsible for Lexi’s death, and for that he would be held to account. He reached down with his right hand and patted the Glock in his pocket as if to reassure himself that it was still there. It would soon be time to make his move.

  Shepherd was becoming increasingly frustrated at the way Willoughby-Brown seemed unwilling – or unable – to admit he had been wrong in offering protection to Ali Hussain. ‘You don’t seem to understand why Standing did what he did,’ said Shepherd. ‘Or are you just pretending not to understand in some pathetic attempt to justify what you did?’

  Willoughby-Brown’s face hardened. ‘You’re getting perilously close to insubordination, Shepherd,’ he said.

  ‘Now it’s “Shepherd”, is it? What happened to “Daniel”?’

  ‘I’d be very careful about what you say from now on,’ said Willoughby-Brown.

  ‘Matt Standing killed the man responsible for the death of his sister. She was raped and then they gave her a drug overdose to keep her quiet. Yet you keep making it sound as if he’s on some sort of mindless rampage.’

  ‘He’s killed a prime source of intel on terrorist activities.’

  ‘Why would he care about any intel he might or might not have had? Hussain killed his sister. Don’t you get that?’

  ‘He put your colleagues in hospital, don’t forget.’

  ‘Because you sent them to bring him in. And they had guns, remember? You shove a gun in the face of an SAS soldier and he’s going to react in the way he was trained to react.’

  ‘You’re not taking his side, surely.’ Willoughby-Brown nodded slowly. ‘Or maybe you are. You’ve clearly spoken to him.’

  Shepherd ignored the accusation. ‘It was his sister, Jeremy. They screwed her and then, when she threatened to go to the cops, they gave her an overdose of heroin to silence her. How the fuck could you protect a child-killer?’

  ‘To be fair, Daniel, the girl injected the heroin herself. No one put a gun to her head.’

  ‘And now I’m back to “Daniel”?’ He shook his head in contempt. ‘They gave her pure heroin. They knew she was a kid and wouldn’t understand the difference. She injected it like she always did and a few minutes later she was dead. Ali Hussain knew what was going to happen. It was murder, Jeremy. They murdered her.’

  ‘It’s a grey area.’

  ‘How’s it a grey area? They gave her pure heroin knowing it would kill her. That’s not a grey area. That’s murder, pure and simple. And it’s not the first time they’ve done it. I’m told it’s happened before. Three times at least.’

  Willoughby-Brown’s eyes flashed. ‘Who told you that? It was Standing, wasn’t it? You went behind my back and spoke to him, didn’t you?’

  Shepherd pointed his finger at Willoughby-Brown’s face. ‘Don’t try to put this on me,’ he said. ‘It isn’t about me. It’s about what you’ve done. You’ve been sheltering a child-abuser who kills his victims. He’s killed at least four young girls, girls that he and his friends raped and abused. He should be behind bars, Jeremy. What the fuck are you doing protecting him?’

  ‘You have no idea what you’re talking about,’ said Willoughby-Brown, avoiding Shepherd’s angry stare.

  ‘Really? Educate me.’

  Willoughby-Brown blew smoke up at the overcast sky. ‘Those terrorists you killed last month. How many lives did that save?’

  ‘Who the fuck knows? It’s hypothetical. But the death of Alexia Chapman is real. It happened. A young girl died. And before she died she was abused by God knows how many men. And you’re protecting the guy who did it.’

  ‘That day you and your team took down twenty-two jihadists and killed eight of them. You stopped a plot to kill God knows how many civilians with automatic weapons, and they were plotting explosions, too. You don’t want to put a number on that, but I will. Hundreds would have died, Daniel. You saved hundreds of lives that day. Hundreds of men, women and children are alive today because of what you did.’

  Shepherd frowned. ‘So? What the fuck does that have to do with Alexia Chapman?’ But as soon as the words left his mouth, he knew the answer to his own question. ‘The intel came from Hussain?’ he said.

  ‘Exactly.’

  Shepherd shook his head. ‘No,’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ said Willoughby-Brown. ‘He has been our source for the best part of three years. The intel he has given us has neutralised seven terrorist plots and resulted in us taking dozens of dangerous jihadists off the streets.’

  ‘I don’t believe this,’ said Shepherd. ‘You gave this guy a pass to abuse and kill young girls because he was grassing up his friends?’

  ‘Not his friends. He hates fundamentalism as much as we do. He’s on our side.’

  ‘He’s a fucking child-killer!’ shouted Shepherd. ‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’

  ‘You’re not looking at the big picture, Daniel. And I understand that. You’re a foot-soldier in this war. I’m a general. We have different views of the battlefield.’

  ‘You’re saying the end justifies the means. That’s what you’re saying.’

  ‘I’m saying that Hussain has given us rock-solid intel that has resulted in the neutralising of dozens of terrorists.’

  ‘And murdered four girls. That we know about. Jeremy, for all we know he might have done this dozens of times. How could you not prosecute him for what he did?’

  ‘We needed his intel. Look, you’re angry. I can see that.’

  Shepherd sighed, but the noise turned into a low growl. ‘You have no idea how angry I am.’

  ‘And I understand that. Do you think I’m happy about what’s happened? Of course I’m not. But I can see the bigger picture. If Hussain had been arrested two months ago and thrown into prison, those people you saved would be dead now.’

  ‘You pulled the cops off, didn’t you?’

  ‘Not personally, no.’

  ‘I know you weren’t the messenger, but you sent people to warn them off. You killed the investigation.’

  ‘And I told Hussain it had to stop.’

  ‘And he ignored you, didn’t he? He carried on abusing.’

  ‘He promised me it wouldn’t happen again.’

  ‘Well, he lied to you.’

  Willoughby-Brown sighed. ‘It’s all immaterial now, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah, he won’t be doing it again, that’s for sure. But that’s no thanks to you. If Standing hadn’t killed Hussain, he’d still be out there grooming and killing, under your protection. You gave him a Get Out of Jail Free card, and shame on you for that.’

  ‘It’s all about the greater good,’ said Willoughby-Brown. ‘Do you know how difficult it is to get good, reliable intel from the Muslim community? We can’t send people in because they’re too easily spotted. They have to be home-grown and, believe me, they’re few and far between. You know as well as I do how many jihadists have come out of north-west London. Mohammed Emwazi, a.k.a. Jihadi John, lived in Maida Vale. The other three jihadists in the Beatles were all from Shepherd’s Bush and White City. Those suicide bombers in Tel Aviv? Asif Hanif was from Hounslow and Omar Khan Sharif had been a student at King’s College. Half of all Islamic terrorism offences and attacks on UK soil over the last decade have been carried out by jihadists living in London. We need to keep a lid on the jihadists coming out of the London mosques, so the few assets we have, we have to protect.’

  ‘Even when they kill children?’

  ‘There’s no proof that Hussain has killed anyone,’ he said. ‘The abuse, well, that’s cultural. Where he’s from, girls get married at twelve.’

  ‘There’s nothing cultural about giving drugs to underage girls and raping them,’ said Shepherd. ‘That’s criminal. And you let him get away with murder, Jeremy. Shame on you for that.’

  ‘I heard you the first time,’ said Willoughby-Brown. ‘Look, we’re going around in circles. What’s done is done.’

  Shepherd opened his mouth to tell Willoughby-Brown what he thought of him, but knew there was no point. ‘I’m going home,’ he said.

  ‘Probably best. Do you want me to arrange a car?’ He flicked ash onto the grass.

  Shepherd ignored the question and walked away. There was so much more he wanted to say, and part of him would happily have beaten Willoughby-Brown to a pulp. But he was already unsure whether or not he still had a job with MI5. If he assaulted his boss, his career would end there and then. Though that ship might already have sailed. He could feel the adrenalin coursing through his system but he forced himself to relax. He let himself into the kitchen, picked up his bag and went out of the front door. As he left, he pulled out his phone to order an Uber taxi.

 

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