Spider's Web: A Collection of All-Action Short Stories Read online

  ‘They don’t trust you?’

  ‘It’s not about trust,’ said Tankov. ‘It’s about being a professional. They pay for a job, they need to know that the job has been completed as promised.’

  ‘So you take a photograph of the body?’

  ‘Exactly.’ Tankov folded his arms across his barrel chest.

  ‘So they don’t trust you. If they trusted you, they wouldn’t want a photograph, would they?’ Shepherd looked over at the Scotsman. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘He doesn’t think,’ said Tankov. ‘It’s nothing to do with him. And it’s nothing to do with you, either. It’s between me and the client.’

  ‘And how do the clients find you?’ asked Shepherd.

  Tankov frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Presumably you don’t advertise in the papers. So how do these clients hire you in the first place?’

  Tankov tilted his head on one side and then slowly smiled. ‘I know what you’re doing,’ he said. ‘You think if you can keep me talking I won’t kill you.’ He chuckled and looked over at the Scotsman. ‘That’s what he’s thinking. He wants to keep me talking.’

  ‘So just kill him,’ said the Scotsman. ‘Kill him and have done with it.’

  Tankov reached into his pocket and pulled out a Swiss Army knife. ‘I think I’ll gut him like the pig he is.’ He waved the blade under Shepherd’s chin. ‘That’s what they call the cops in England, isn’t it? Pigs?’ He grinned savagely. ‘You know what they call the cops in Russia? Trash. Garbage. That’s what you are. Garbage.’

  ‘I thought you were a professional,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Professionals kill for money. Who’s going to pay you for killing me?’

  ‘You I will kill for free.’

  ‘But killing me is pointless. I’m doing my job, that’s all. If you kill me someone else will take over. And if you kill him someone will take over from him. This isn’t personal, Tankov. You’re just a job for me.’

  ‘A job that will be the death of you.’

  Shepherd shook his head. ‘We’re the same, you and me,’ he said. ‘You do what you do for money. So do I. We’re two professionals. Your job is to kill people. My job is to stop you. You’re going to kill me because I’m doing my job.’

  ‘And you think that’s unfair?’ said the Russian.

  ‘I’m long past the stage of worrying about what’s fair and what’s not fair. Life isn’t fair, I know that. Good people get hurt and people get away with doing bad things. I’m just saying, there’s zero profit in you killing me.’

  ‘It would shut you up, for a start,’ growled the Scotsman.

  ‘I’m just saying. You killed this Grabosky character. You killed him for money. But if you kill me, you get nothing.’

  ‘Think of it as …Rkilt as 17; Tankov frowned and looked over at the Scotsman. ‘What’s that phrase I heard? Latin or something. Means you do something for free.’

  ‘Pro bono,’ said the Scotsman.

  Tankov nodded. ‘That’s it. Pro bono. I’ll kill you for pro bono.’

  ‘Then you’re no different from any other gangbanger with a gun,’ said Shepherd. ‘Professionals don’t kill for anything other than cold, hard cash.’

  Tankov waved the knife under Shepherd’s chin. ‘You talk too much.’

  ‘And what about the guy who paid you to kill Grabosky? How much did he pay you?’

  ‘I told you. A quarter of a million dollars.’

  ‘So how’s he going to feel when he hears you’ve done the same thing for free?’

  ‘He won’t know. No one will. No one’s ever going to find your body.’ He pressed the knife against Shepherd’s throat. ‘But first you need to tell me how much you know.’

  ‘That could take some time,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’ve got an eidetic memory.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘An eidetic. I remember everything I’ve seen or heard.’

  The Russian grinned. ‘Then you won’t have any problems telling me what you know about me, will you?’ He pressed the knife harder against Shepherd’s throat and it punctured the skin. Blood dribbled down the blade.

  ‘Your name is Viktor Tankov, you served in the Russian military in Afghanistan in the late eighties, just before they pulled out. You made a bit of a name for yourself in Chechnya in the late nineties and you went freelance in 2001, just after 9/11.’

  Tankov nodded. ‘I should have gone independent sooner, but I did not know how,’ he said. ‘I was a soldier, I was used to following orders.’ He pulled the blade of the knife out and Shepherd felt blood trickle down his neck. ‘How did you know I was in the UK?’

  ‘The Border Agency was watching for you.’

  ‘I did not travel under my own name.’

  ‘The face recognition system spotted you,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘But I flew in through Dublin and came over on the ferry.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘So why wasn’t I arrested?’

  ‘We’ve nothing on you,’ said Shepherd. ‘You never leave forensic evidence, there are no witnesses, and like you said, most of the time there isn’t even a body.’

  ‘So the British cops have nothing? No evidence against me?’

  ‘That’s why I was put on the case.’

  The Russian laughed harshly. ‘That didn’t work out so well for you, did it?’

  Shepherd said nothing. He could still feel blood trickling down his neck.

  ‘If you have no evidence against me, how did you know who I was?’

  ‘We cooperate more with the Russians these days. The SVR notified us.’

  Tankov nodded thoughtfully. ‘And what evidence do they have?’

  Shepherd said nothingjussaid no.

  Tankov pressed the knife against Shepherd’s throat again. ‘What evidence do they have?’ he repeated.

  ‘Circumstantial,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘Circumstantial?’

  ‘You’ve been in places where killings have taken place. That plus your background.’

  ‘But nothing definite?’

  ‘You’re one of several names they gave us. They wanted me to follow you, find out what you were up to.’

  Tankov nodded. ‘And what about London? Do they know why I’m here?’

  ‘No,’ said Shepherd.

  Tankov stared at Shepherd. ‘Are you lying to me?’

  ‘Why would I lie? I don’t care, Viktor. I’m just a cog in the machine. I gain nothing by lying to you. And if I tell you everything I know, you’ve got no need to kill me, right?’

  Tankov drew the knife slowly down Shepherd’s throat, scratching the skin but not piercing it.

  ‘I’m not lying,’ said Shepherd quickly.

  ‘So they don’t know who my target is?’

  ‘If they do, they didn’t tell us,’ said Shepherd. There was no risk in lying to the Russian, he clearly didn’t know how much Shepherd knew. The first rule of interrogation was never to ask a question that you didn’t know the answer to. Tankov might well be one the world’s most efficient assassins but he was a lousy interrogator.

  Tankov took the knife away and looked at the Scotsman. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘It’s your call,’ said the Scotsman.

  ‘We can go ahead,’ said the Russian. ‘If they don’t know the target …’

  ‘Who is the target?’ asked the Scotsman.

  ‘A journalist. Ella Mirskiv.’

  ‘A woman?’ said the Scotsman.

  ‘A target,’ said Tankov. ‘Man or woman, it makes no difference. She has been writing stories that damage my client and he wants her taken care of.’ He looked back at Shepherd. ‘Did they mention her? Ella Mirskiv?’

  Shepherd shook his head.

  ‘You are sure?’

  ‘I already said, I’ve got a photographic memory. I don’t forget anything. Can I ask you something?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘How did I show out? How did you k
now I was a cop?’

  ‘You were recognised, in a restaurant where I was meeting a contact. One of the waiters had come across you when you were a cop. He saw you watching me and tipped me off.’

  ‘But he wouldn’t have known my name,’ said Shepherd. ‘I never use my own name when I’m undercover.’

  ‘Ron here knew you,’ said Tankov, jerking a thumb at the Scotsman. ‘He was with me when my boys pulled you in. Said he recognised you.’

  Shepherd nodded. ‘Thanks for that, Ron.’

  ‘Pleasure.’

  ‘I don’t know you, do I?’ Shepherd asked the Scotsman.

  ‘You put away a group of my pals a while back,’ said the Scotsman. ‘Drugs.’

  ‘So much for your photographic memory.’ The Russian laughed.

  ‘You’re going to go ahead?’ asked the Scotsman. ‘You’re still going to take out this Ella Mirskiv?’

  ‘Why not? I’ve been paid in advance.’

  ‘Big money?’ asked the Scotsman.

  ‘The usual. A quarter of a million dollars.’

  ‘Is this one an accident or does she disappear?’

  The Russian smiled. ‘This one has to be seen to be an assassination,’ he said. ‘The client wants a bullet in the face, a warning to others.’

  ‘A warning?’ repeated the Scotsman.

  ‘A warning to other journalists not to write about him.’

  ‘The pen is supposed to be mightier than the sword,’ said the Scotsman.

  ‘That may be so, but I can tell you that a Glock is a lot more effective. You can get me a Glock?’

  ‘Of course.’

  The Russian turned back to Shepherd. ‘Enough talking,’ he said. ‘It’s time to gut the pig.’ He drew back the knife.

  ‘Before you kill me, there’s something you should know,’ said Shepherd quietly.

  ‘Please, don’t demean yourself by begging for your life,’ said Tankov. ‘As you said, you and I, we are professionals. We live and work as professionals and that is how we must die.’

  ‘I understand that,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘Begging achieves nothing, it never does,’ said Tankov. ‘In the entire history of assassination, an assassin has never stopped because of something the target has said.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘That is a fact. An absolute fact.’

  ‘I bet there is something I could say that would stop you.’ Shepherd gritted his teeth. His shoulders felt as if they were on fire and his wrists were red raw from where the chain had rubbed against the flesh, but he forced himself to ignore the pain, knowing that it would soon be over.

  Tankov threw his head back and laughed. The sound echoed off the walls. ‘You are one crazy Englishman.’ He looked over at his companion. ‘The English are all crazy, or is it just this one?’

  ‘Crazy as a fox,’ said the Scotsman.

  Tankov frowned. ‘What do you mean? Crazy as a fox?’

  ‘He means that I can stop you,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘You can stop me slicing you open and watching your guts spill out on to the floor?’

  ‘I think so, yes.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘I’m being modest,’ said Shepherd. ‘Actually, I’m sure.’

  ‘You can say something to me that will stop me killing you?’

  ‘Yes. And better than that.’

  Tankov’s frown deepened. ‘Better than that?’

  ‘I can put you behind bars for the rest of your lrubst of yife.’

  Tankov laughed, but this time there was a nervous edge to it. ‘Bullshit,’ he said.

  ‘Do you want to give it a go?’

  The Russian nodded. ‘Why not? You’re bluffing.’

  Shepherd looked over at the Scotsman. ‘What do you think? Do you think I’m bluffing?’

  The Scotsman smiled. ‘Like I said, crazy like a fox.’

  Shepherd looked back at Tankov. He took a deep breath.

  ‘You’re bluffing,’ said Tankov.

  ‘I’d suggest a bet, but where you’re going you won’t have any money so that would be pointless. Are you ready?’

  ‘Ready for what?’

  Shepherd nodded at the door. ‘On the other side of that door are half a dozen police officers armed to their teeth. Once they hear the right words they’ll storm in here and if you so much as look at them wrong they’ll fill your head full of lead.’

  ‘Bullshit,’ said the Russian.

  ‘And if you’re lucky and they don’t kill you, they now have enough evidence to put you away for life.’

  ‘Evidence? What evidence?’

  ‘Your confession. You’ve confessed to killing Stefen Grabosky and planning to kill Ella Mirskiv. And once you’re in custody, who knows what else they’ll be able to pin on you.’

  ‘Confession?’

  ‘They’ve heard every word you’ve said in here. Heard it and recorded it.’

  ‘Bullshit,’ said the Russian. ‘You’re not wired.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Shepherd. ‘But he is.’ He gestured with his chin at the Scotsman. ‘Right?’

  ‘I hope so,’ said the Scotsman. ‘Otherwise this has all been a waste of time.’ He was holding a Glock and pointing it at Tankov’s stomach. He used his left hand to lift up his sweatshirt, revealing a stainless steel box the size of an iPhone taped to his stomach.

  ‘What?’ said the Russian, staring at the gun.

  ‘Drop the knife,’ said the Scotsman, letting his sweatshirt fall back into place.

  ‘Just say the words, Razor,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘Razor?’ repeated the Russian.

  The Scotsman moved away from the door, keeping the gun aimed at Tankov’s chest. ‘Is that the time?’ he said, loudly.

  Shepherd closed his eyes and turned his face away from the door. As he did there was a loud bang and the door flew inwards.

  ‘Armed police, drop your weapon!’ shouted a big man in black overalls, bulletproof vest and a Kevlar helmet. He was holding a G36 carbine with a laser sight, and a red dot danced across Tankov’s chest. ‘Drop the knife!’

  Tankov snarled and turned to Razor. ‘You bastard!’ he shouted. ‘You set me up!’

  More red dots danced across Tankov’s back as two more armed cops edged into the basement. ‘Drop the knife now or we will shoot!’

  ‘I’ll kill you!’ shouted Tankov, and he lunged at Razor. Two of th sar. Two e carbines fired at the same time and the Russian stopped in his tracks. The knife fell from his hand and he slumped to his knees, then pitched forward and slammed into the concrete.

  The three armed cops hurried over to Tankov. One of them kicked away the knife. ‘You OK, Razor?’ he asked.

  ‘All good,’ said Razor, slipping the Glock back into the holster in the small of his back.

  ‘I’m fine, too, thanks for asking,’ said Shepherd. ‘Now will you get me down from here.’

  Razor knelt down next to Tankov and went through his pockets. He pulled out a padlock key and went over to Shepherd. He reached up to unlock the padlock but then stopped and took a step back. ‘You know there was nothing else I could do, right?’

  ‘Get me the hell down, will you?’ said Shepherd.

  ‘I will do, but we need a chat first.’

  ‘A chat?’ He arched his back. ‘My arms are killing me.’

  Razor Sharpe grinned. ‘I just want to make sure that there’s no ill-feeling.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I just want you to tell me that you’re not bearing any grudges.’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘I was in the car with Tankov when his guys grabbed you. That was the first time I knew you were on the case.’

  ‘I’d been following him for a week, Razor.’

  ‘Yeah, well, you were clearly doing a crap job or you’d have seen me. And why the hell didn’t MI5 tell us that they were after him?’

  ‘“Us” being?’

  ‘Homicide and Serious Crime. I’m on attachment to them, work
ing undercover. My brief was get close to Tankov and identify his target.’

  ‘I guess your bosses should have been talking to Charlotte Button.’

  ‘Or vice versa,’ said Razor. ‘He wasn’t an obvious MI5 target, was he?’

  ‘Just let me down, we can talk it through over a drink.’

  One of the cops patted Sharpe on the shoulder with a gloved hand. ‘You want me to cut him down?’

  Sharpe shook his head and held up the key. ‘Just give us a minute, will you?’ he said.

  The officer nodded and walked away.

  ‘Let me down, Razor, or so help me I’ll knock you into the middle of next week,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘I just want to make sure we’re good.’

  ‘We’re good.’

  ‘You’re just saying that. I can tell. I had to tell him something. I mean, he already had you, right? So I thought the best thing to do was to tell him you were a cop.’

  ‘Razor, so help me …’

  ‘I know, I know. But I couldn’t do anything to tip you off, I had to let it play out. I’d never have let him hurt you, you know that, right?’

  ‘He cut me. You saw him cut me.’

  ‘Och, I’ve done more damage with my Bic razor. I couldn’t stop him, not until we’d got what we wanted. You understand that?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘And with me being wired, it seemed the perfect opportunity to give him enough rope.’

  ‘It worked a treat. I see that. With me strung up, he got overconfident. No need to explain.’

  ‘So we’re good?’

  ‘We’re good.’

  ‘And the ball-grabbing thing. You’re OK about that?’

  ‘I’m fine. As right as rain.’

  Sharpe took a step towards Shepherd but then stopped. ‘You know, I think I’ll head off,’ he said. He tossed the key to one of the armed cops. ‘Do me a favour and let my friend down,’ he said.

  ‘Razor, you stay where you are!’ shouted Shepherd,

  but Sharpe was already out of the door and running up the stairs.

  HIATUS

  ‘We’re clear on this, right? Nothing physical. No shoving, no pushing, no punching.’ Garry Dobbs looked into the eyes of his protégé. Jack Martin was two years younger than Dobbsy and a hell of a lot less smart but beggars couldn’t be choosers and Dobbsy had to make do with what was available. ‘You understand, Jacko? You absolutely cannot get physical.’