‘How much longer will you be on it?’

  ‘It’s open-ended. It’s huge, Spider. We started in 2014 with six hundred arrests. Most came through credit-card use, idiots who were stupid enough to use their own cards to buy child porn. We pulled them in and seized their computers. Then we started on the file-sharing, netting the guys who weren’t paying for it but were making their own and swapping it. But for every computer seized, someone has to watch every video, look at every picture. It takes for ever. Once we have a breakdown of what they’ve been looking at, the case gets handed to the investigators.’

  ‘But why you? You’re an undercover specialist.’

  ‘That’s why I was seconded, initially. I was posing as a paedo, and that was a whole lot of fun, as you can imagine. Robbers, hitmen, drug dealers, they’re criminals but often enough they’re okay as people. You’ve met plenty of guys who are perfectly reasonable except that they break the law.’

  Shepherd nodded. ‘A few.’

  ‘They’re criminals, but they’re ordinary decent criminals, as they call themselves. Nice to their mothers, good with kids, stand their round in the pub.’

  ‘Salt of the earth,’ laughed Shepherd.

  ‘You know what I mean. But these scumbags, they’re not human. They’re like snakes. Reptiles. A different species. Luckily they don’t usually get together, only contact each other online, but even then I had to go home and shower after I’d been online with them – I felt that dirty. Once we started bringing them in, they were using me for the questioning. The superintendent in charge thought they’d see me as a friendly face.’

  ‘Oh, shit, really?’

  Sharpe grimaced. ‘Yeah. Basically saying that I looked like a paedo. Nice, huh?’ He drained his glass and grinned mischievously. ‘Your round.’

  ‘I bought the last one, Razor.’

  ‘Yeah, but you obviously brought me here to pick my brains so you’re gonna have to pay for your pound of flesh.’ He made a shooing motion with his hand. ‘Maybe bring me a malt chaser. I’m developing a thirst.’

  Shepherd went back to the bar and returned with fresh drinks.

  ‘So enough about me, how’s life with the spooks?’ asked Sharpe.

  ‘Same old. I’m on surveillance a lot of the time. Not much call for undercover work when all the bad guys are brown-eyed and bearded.’

  Sharpe wagged a finger at him. ‘Now don’t tell me you’re racially profiling because you know that’s not allowed.’

  Shepherd laughed and sipped his whiskey and soda.

  ‘That shoot-out was you, yeah? Trafalgar Square, Hyde Park and the South Bank?’

  ‘Yeah, I was there.’

  ‘It was a close one?’

  ‘We only had one casualty on our side but, yeah, we cut it way too close.’

  ‘Willoughby-Brown?’

  Shepherd nodded.

  ‘He’s a glory-hunter, that one. He’d be looking for the big score.’

  ‘Well, he got that, all right. But we lost an officer – Lofty Loftus. You ever come across him?’

  Sharpe shook his head.

  ‘He was a good guy, old-school. They stuck him like a pig. No reason for it, they could have just knocked him out or tied him up but they killed him.’ He screwed up his face. ‘Bastards.’

  ‘Yeah,’ agreed Sharpe. ‘Bastards.’

  ‘And it’s never-ending. They just keep coming. It’s like what the IRA said about Thatcher. She has to be lucky all the time. They only had to be lucky once. We’re putting cell after cell out of commission, but they’re still going to get through eventually. It’s a matter of the odds. We might stop ten or fifty or a hundred attempts, it doesn’t matter. There’ll always be another group that wants to try their luck.’

  ‘So what’s the answer?’

  ‘I really don’t know. It’s as depressing as hell. Some of the jihadists we took down were ISIS fighters trained out in the Middle East, but a lot were British. Born here, went to school here, played football in the park, went to the local library.’

  ‘Yeah, well, just because a dog is born in a stable, that doesn’t mean it grows up to be a horse.’

  ‘Razor …’

  ‘I know, I know, we’re not supposed to say that. But I believe it’s in their genes. Maybe three or four generations down the line they’ll start to think like Brits but until then they’re always going to be different.’

  ‘If we start treating them as different, of course they’ll behave differently.’

  ‘Spider, these kids have been given every advantage they could want, and they still hate us. They hate us, mate. They think we’re lower than animals. It’s in the Koran.’

  ‘Have you actually read the Koran, Razor?’

  ‘As a matter of fact I have. “We shall cast terror into the hearts of the unbelievers” is one of the lines I remember. And “Fight them; Allah will punish them by your hands” is another. So, not really the religion of peace.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s from what they call the Sword Verse. What about “But those mine enemies, which would not that I should reign over them, bring hither, and slay them before me”, that’s pretty aggressive. And “Think not that I am come to send peace on earth: I came not to send peace, but a sword.” It’s all violent stuff, isn’t it?’

  Sharpe nodded. ‘Damn right.’

  ‘Yeah, but those second two quotes are from the Bible, Razor. Luke chapter nineteen verse twenty-seven, and Matthew chapter ten verse thirty-four.’ He raised his glass and grinned.

  ‘You’re a tricky bugger,’ said Sharpe.

  ‘I’m just showing that selective quotes don’t prove anything. There are plenty of peaceful imams around, just as there were priests happy to help the IRA when they needed it, civilian deaths or not.’

  ‘But it’s the religion that’s the problem, no question,’ said Sharpe. ‘Even if the schools do their job and the parents have the best of intentions, the mosques are the breeding ground for the jihadists.’

  ‘It’s the bad imams that are the problem, not the religion,’ said Shepherd. ‘There’s plenty of good Muslims around. The vast majority. We’ve got a fair number working at Five now. The ones I’ve met there are as British as you and me. More English than you, that’s for sure.’

  Sharpe laughed and raised his glass.

  ‘Several of them drink, and think nothing of it. Some don’t, but then drink isn’t always a religious thing. Plenty of teetotallers in Five and Six. Vegans, too. A couple of girls wear headscarves but most don’t. Western clothing, designer-label handbags, high heels, make-up.’

  ‘My mum never went out without a headscarf when I was a kid,’ said Sharpe. ‘And, to be fair, a lot of the lassies in Glasgow would benefit from the full burka.’

  ‘The point I’m trying to make, despite your piss-taking, is that there are plenty of Muslims here who are no different from us. They’re as patriotic and law-abiding as we are, and they’re as dismayed as we are at what’s happening in the name of their religion. Though to hear Willoughby-Brown talk about it, you’d think we were being infiltrated by the Taliban on a daily basis.’

  Sharpe raised his eyebrows. ‘Tell me more.’

  ‘Just something he said. He’s got a source he’s keeping close to his chest and he said it’s because he’s worried about confidentiality. He said there’s been a lowering of standards when it comes to recruiting from the Muslim community and the jihadists are taking advantage of it.’

  ‘Like they’ve done at the airports.’

  ‘He mentioned the airports, yeah.’

  ‘Don’t sound so surprised. You’ve been through Terminal Three. You’ve seen what it’s like there. And look at the immigration service. Then we wonder why there are so many hooky passports floating around.’

  ‘He said the cops were being infiltrated, too.’

  ‘I reckon he’s right. And he’s definitely right about standards being lowered. Back in my day, you had to be built like a brick shithouse to be a copper. These days, if you’re the right ethnic mix, you don’t even have to be able to walk up a flight of stairs.’

  ‘To be fair, the job’s changed,’ said Shepherd. ‘The days of chasing after the bad guys blowing a whistle have long gone. Nowadays they call for mobile back-up.’

  ‘Yeah, but still, when the shit hits the fan, do you want a midget watching your back?’

  Shepherd laughed. ‘I think you’re overstating the case.’ He picked up his glass and sipped. ‘Anyway, a midget might come in useful if you wanted to infiltrate a circus.’

  ‘Aye, and there’s a few bearded ladies in the Met, these days.’ He leaned over and clinked his glass against Shepherd’s. ‘We should hang out more often.’

  ‘Yeah, I miss the old days, working with Sam. They were good.’

  Sharpe smiled. ‘And finally we get to the point.’

  Shepherd tilted his head on one side. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I did all the interrogation courses, plus I’ve got nigh on thirty years’ experience interviewing,’ he said.

  ‘No one’s questioning your ability, Razor.’

  Sharpe’s smile widened. ‘Sam’s fine, if that’s what you’re asking.’

  ‘You think I asked you for a drink just so that I can talk to you about Sam Hargrove?’

  ‘Do you want to deny it?’ He shrugged. ‘No problem, I apologise. Let’s change the subject and talk about football.’

  Shepherd looked at him for several seconds, then grinned. ‘Fine, yes, okay, you’ve got me. I need to pick your brains.’

  ‘Pick away. Just don’t try to kid a kidder.’ He settled back in his chair and folded his arms.

  ‘So how is Sam, these days?’

  ‘Same old, same old.’

  ‘Getting near retirement, right?’

  ‘Him and me both.’

  ‘You’ll never retire, Razor. You’ll die in harness.’

  ‘Maybe. But Sam has visions of days watching cricket at Lord’s and evenings walking his dogs with his wife.’

  ‘Do you think he’s taken his eye off the ball?’

  Sharpe looked quizzically at him. ‘Why would you say that?’

  ‘It’s been a while since I’ve seen him. I just wondered …’

  ‘If he’s gone senile?’

  ‘Don’t be like that.’

  ‘How do you expect me to be? He’s my boss, and you want me to badmouth him? What’s your interest, Spider? Does he have something to worry about?’

  ‘Can we talk off the record?’

  ‘Fuck off, Spider.’ Sharpe was smiling but his eyes had hardened.

  ‘I’m in a difficult position. Try to appreciate that.’

  ‘Yeah? Well, you need to appreciate the difficult position you’re putting me in.’

  ‘Not if it’s off the record.’

  ‘We both know that means nothing. A conversation is a conversation.’

  Shepherd leaned towards him. ‘I’m putting my job on the line here, Razor. I need some guarantees. If Willoughby-Brown finds out that I’ve talked about this, I’m toast.’

  Sharpe’s eyes narrowed. ‘So Willoughby-Brown is trying to do to Sam what he did to the fragrant Miss Button?’

  ‘Different scenario,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘What the fuck’s going on, Spider?’

  Shepherd took a gulp of whiskey and soda. ‘Have you come across Lisa Wilson?’

  ‘Sure. She’s a good operator. Worked on a couple of cases with her when she joined the NCA’s undercover unit a couple of years ago.’ He frowned. ‘Is this about Lisa? Or Sam?’

  Shepherd sighed. ‘Both.’

  ‘Fuck me,’ said Sharpe.

  ‘This has to stay between you and me, Razor.’

  ‘Understood. But what’s Willoughby-Brown up to?’

  ‘He thinks Lisa’s gone over to the dark side and that Sam has dropped the ball. Do you know what she’s working on now?’

  Sharpe shook his head. ‘The unit doesn’t function like that. Sam assigns case officers and they pull undercover operatives from the pool. It’s not like we all get together for morning prayers and share information. And we’re rarely in NCA headquarters.’

  ‘She’s been told to get close to a drug dealer. Good-looking, charismatic, ticks all the boxes. Could she have fallen for him?’

  ‘How would I know?’

  ‘Does she have a husband? Boyfriend?’

  ‘Not that I know of.’

  ‘But committed? To the job?’

  Sharpe chuckled. ‘You know as well as I do that you can’t do this job if you’re not a hundred per cent committed. It takes over your life. No one who wants a nine-to-five works under cover.’

  ‘What’s her background?’

  ‘Didn’t they show you her file?’

  ‘They did, but the file never tells the whole story.’

  ‘From what I remember she was a beat cop in south London. Then she got an attachment to the Drugs Squad and that’s where she came across some of the NCA guys. One of them recommended her to Sam.’

  ‘What sort of family?’

  ‘Regular middle class, I think. Difficult to tell. She’s a bit of a chameleon.’

  ‘That’s what Willoughby-Brown said. But he was referring to the way she could change her appearance.’

  ‘That too,’ said Sharpe. ‘But I meant she’s an emotional chameleon.’

  ‘How so?’

  Sharpe took a drink as he gathered his thoughts. ‘Okay. So, the first time I met her was on a drugs case. I was posing as a buyer from Glasgow. She was my girlfriend.’ He grinned at the look of surprise on Shepherd’s face. ‘I know, who’d have thought it, right? We got some looks when we walked into places, I can tell you, because she went the tarty route. Short skirts, low-cut tops. She was a distraction, and it worked. Great cover – I don’t think anyone would ever have placed her as a cop. Anyway, we spent a week schmoozing the bad guys, throwing around money like there was no tomorrow, Cristal, the Mayfair Bar, the full monty. The NCA is a lot more generous with its budgets than SOCA ever was. Anyway, the whole time I was with her, I thought she was Scottish. She had the accent, she spoke the slang. It didn’t even occur to me that she wasn’t. But when the operation was over and we were briefing the CPS solicitor, he was a Brummie and, bugger me, she had a Birmingham accent. Not too strong, not like she was taking the piss, she just had the accent. And she was always doing that mirroring thing. Not just with me, with everyone. You know what I mean? You smile, she smiles. You fold your arms, she folds her arms.’

  ‘It makes people feel comfortable,’ said Shepherd. ‘It builds trust.’

  ‘Yeah, I’ve read all the body-language books, too. And it works. But she does it naturally. I’m sure it isn’t deliberate. And she seems to adapt her personality to whoever she’s with. With me in private she was always respectful. Deferential, you know what I mean. Like everything I said was gospel. She’d ask me something and then listen like every word I gave her was gold. She’d ask me if I wanted a coffee and just put her hand on my arm. Not sexual, not at all, like I was her dad.’ He chuckled. ‘Or her grandfather.’ He took another drink. ‘When we were out with the targets, she was all sex. I mean, she just walked differently, talked differently, the way she held herself. Not overtly – she wasn’t flashing her tits or anything. It was more eyes and the way she moved. You could see the guys with their tongues hanging out. They spent so much time ogling her they didn’t see the trap closing.’

  ‘Sounds like she’s good at her job.’

  ‘She’s a natural. I was minding her on a job she did in Exeter last year. The local cops had a guy they were sure had killed his wife but they just couldn’t get the evidence. He was on that Tinder dating site so they put her on and he matched her within hours. The plan was to get him to confess to her. So it was going to take time. She was fixed up in a flat in the city centre, wired for sound and vision, and I had the flat upstairs. That was so I could watch what was going on and kick down the door if things went wrong.’

  ‘So she was on her own a lot with the guy?’

  ‘A hell of a lot,’ said Sharpe. ‘It took weeks. I spent hours watching them, and it was like she was a totally different person. Her voice was different, her mannerisms, the way she moved. She’d dyed her hair, too, because the target was into blondes. She had it cut short because that was how he liked it. But she changed her personality, too, to become the sort of girl he wanted. And she didn’t seem to be doing it consciously.’

  ‘And the target, what was he like?’

  ‘Good-looking guy but not too bright. Married his wife for her money. She was few years older, owned the house, and there was a trust fund her parents had set up for her. She had a good team of lawyers, who made him sign a pre-nup. If they ever divorced, he’d get nothing. He’d been fooling around and she’d set a private detective on him. He found out and a few weeks later she disappeared. Her car was found in a car park at Heathrow and he told his friends she’d said she wanted to spend some time on her own. Her family didn’t believe him and went to the cops. There was no record of her taking any flights and they couldn’t find her on CCTV. Her father used to be a local councillor and was friends with the deputy chief constable so the local cops asked the NCA for help.’

  ‘So, no body?’

  ‘No body, no evidence of violence, no threats, nothing. If the father hadn’t been connected it would probably have been written off as a missing person at most.’

  ‘And the guy still had access to her money?’

  Sharpe nodded. ‘Joint bank accounts, and they owned a chain of hairdressing salons. So money was still coming in and he had the house. All he had to do was carry on as normal and after seven years have her declared officially dead.’

  ‘And how did it go?’

  ‘Like a dream,’ said Sharpe. ‘He liked Lisa’s Tinder profile, they chatted online for a few days, she gave him her number and they talked on the phone for almost a week before he said he wanted to meet. They met for a coffee. Then dinner. Went to a movie. We had to take it slowly. But after a couple of weeks he was coming around to her flat and drinking wine, watching Netflix, getting all cosy.’

  ‘She wasn’t sleeping with him?’

 

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