Fast Track

Book 18: The Spider Shepherd Thrillers

by Stephen Leather

Genres: Action & Adventure; Thrillers; Suspense

Synopsis

The new edge-of-your-seat novel in the thrilling Spider Shepherd series

Who can you trust if you can't trust the people tasked with protecting the nation?

Murderous jihadists have been crossing the English Channel, passing themselves off as asylum seekers. MI5 have been keeping them under surveillance, but what starts as a simple terrorist takedown goes badly wrong and dozens of innocent civilians are killed in the heart of London.

And the screw is tightened when a bomb takes out senior members of the Secret Intelligence Service.

Someone within the security services has been working to their own agenda, and only Dan 'Spider' Shepherd can identify the bad apple. His search for the rogue agent takes him to Turkey and then to Dubai, where his masters order him to carry out a breathtaking act of revenge.

(P)2021 Hodder & Stoughton Limited

Release date: July 22, 2021

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton

Print pages: 400

Sample

‘Cheeseburger or Big Mac?’ The Deliveroo driver opened his back carrier. There were three McDonald’s bags sitting on top of a C8 CQB carbine with a flash suppressor on the end of its ten-inch barrel. ‘I’ve got two cheeseburgers but only the one Big Mac.’

‘Are you serious, Jack?’ said Alan Sage, who was sitting astride his Honda PCX 150 scooter. He was also wearing a Deliveroo jacket and had a C8 in his back carrier. The CQB was shorter than the average carbine, making it perfect for close protection work and for fitting into a Deliveroo carrier box. ‘How did you get time for a Mickey D run?’

‘There was a drive-through on the way. Do you want one or not?’ Jack Ellis was one of Sage’s closest friends. They had been on SAS selection together twelve years earlier and had buddied up on missions around the world. He was tall and lanky with piercing brown eyes and a drooping moustache that even he admitted gave him the look of a Seventies porn star. He had picked up the nickname ‘Thing One’ to differentiate him from his twin brother, Joe, who had joined the regiment a year after Jack and was promptly designated ‘Thing Two’. Both had served with distinction in the Parachute Regiment’s Fourth Battalion.

‘Hell yeah,’ said Sage. He held out his hand and Ellis gave him one of the bags.

‘There’s fries in there, too.’

‘You’re a star,’ said Sage. He was in his late twenties, a former Para who wasn’t long back from a mission in Syria so his skin was dark from the desert sun. He hadn’t bothered to shave his beard as there was every likelihood that he would be back somewhere hot and sunny within the next few months.

‘Don’t I get one?’ asked the third member of the group. Jeff ‘Mutton’ Taylor had been in the SAS for more than two decades, usually serving as patrol medic on overseas operations. He was short and squat with powerful arms that came in useful when he performed his party trick – fifty one-armed press-ups at double time. He had been with Sage on the Syrian mission but had shaved his greying beard as soon as he’d returned to the UK, leaving him with a patch of pale skin around his mouth and chin.

‘Mate, you should be thinking about a salad rather than a burger,’ said Ellis. ‘You’re the only man I know who can spend a month in the sandpit and come back fatter than when he went in.’

Taylor slapped his expanding waistline. ‘This is fucking muscle, mate. And it’s a proven scientific fact that the average McDonald’s salad has more calories than a burger.’ He held out a gloved hand. ‘But I’m not greedy, I’ll take a cheeseburger.’ He was sitting on a scooter painted in the livery of the DHL courier company and had a matching helmet perched on one of his mirrors.

Ellis tossed him the bag.

The earpiece in Sage’s ear crackled and all three men tensed. ‘Victor One is approaching the Oxford turn-off,’ said a female voice. ‘Stand by, stand by, stand by.’ There were two women sharing the comms but they used a single call sign, Charlie One.

The SAS troopers and their scooters were in the back of a removal van heading south on the M40, following two vans – codenamed Victor One and Victor Two – each with two men in the cab and four jihadists armed with Kalashnikov assault rifles in the back. The vans had started their journey at just before nine-thirty, departing from an industrial estate to the west of Birmingham. The warehouse the jihadists were using had been under surveillance by MI5, but according to the female analyst who had briefed the SAS team, they didn’t know where the jihadists planned to attack. The analyst had also admitted that MI5 didn’t know how many other potential terrorists were involved, so the decision had been taken to follow them to their intended destination rather than to arrest them at the warehouse. Which was why the three SAS troopers were in the removal van with their scooters and carbines. With no way of knowing which city was the intended target, the plan was for the trucks to ferry the scooters to where they would be needed.

The two vans were being followed by MI5 surveillance experts in a variety of vehicles and there was an MI5 helicopter watching from high up in the sky.

The operation was being run from a control centre in MI5’s headquarters in Thames House. They were handling all comms. Despite there being Counter Terrorism Specialist Firearms Officers on the operation, the police top brass weren’t involved. The CTSFOs had been assigned to MI5 for the duration of the operation. Sage wasn’t sure why the cops had been kept out of it. It felt to him like an error of judgement. Once shots were fired people would be reaching for their phones and calling nine nine nine and if an armed response unit turned up, there was every chance they would misread the situation.

Once the two vans had turned onto the M40, London had seemed the obvious choice but Oxford was still a possibility.

‘Victor One is remaining in the middle lane and not indicating,’ said Charlie One.

Sage didn’t know if either of the women on the comms were the same one who had handled the briefing at six o’clock in the morning. She hadn’t given her name, but then spooks almost never did. She was in her forties and had a menacing stare as if she was daring them to look anywhere but at the maps and photographs she’d put up on a large whiteboard. There had been more than twenty men and women gathered together in the abandoned factory building that had been used to prepare for the operation. There were nine bikes being used by six SAS troopers and three CTSFOs from the Met, with drivers for the three removal vans that were being used to ferry the bikes. Each driver was accompanied by an armed CTSFO and there were six surveillance vehicles, all driven by unarmed MI5 surveillance experts.

‘Victor One has passed the Oxford turn-off,’ said the woman in Sage’s ear. ‘Victor Two is in the middle lane and not indicating.’

‘Looks like London, then,’ said Taylor. He unwrapped his burger and took a big bite. ‘I knew it was going to be London.’

‘They’ve got to cover all bases,’ said Sage. ‘We’d all look like tits if we were waiting for them in London and they attacked Milton Keynes.’

‘Milton Keynes is a shithole,’ said Taylor. ‘Nobody would miss it if they wiped it off the map.’ He shoved a handful of chips into his mouth.

‘Victor Two has passed the Oxford turn-off,’ said the woman.

Sage looked at his watch. Central London was about sixty miles from Oxford, about an hour and a half at the speed they were travelling. His gut told him that was where the jihadists were heading, but once they reached the capital it was anyone’s guess what their ultimate target would be.

‘So how long have you known this young lady?’ asked Dan Shepherd as he slowed the BMW X5 and turned into Brighton Marina.

Liam laughed. ‘Dad, you sound like something out of a Jane Austen novel.’

‘I wondered if this was a roundabout way of asking for her hand in marriage, except that you’re approaching the wrong father. You realise that it’s her dad you’re supposed to be asking?’

‘You are mad,’ said Liam.

‘Seriously, this is the first of your girlfriends that I’ve been introduced to. So I’m assuming she’s special.’ He found a parking space and guided the SUV in.

‘Yeah, she’s special,’ said Liam. ‘Her brother Ant is in my unit. We had a family day last year and she turned up with her mum and we hit it off.’

Shepherd noted that Liam hadn’t contradicted him when he’d referred to her as a girlfriend. ‘No father?’

‘Their father got that long Covid thing. He was in ICU for a couple of months and he’s at home now but he’s still not well. That’s why we’re here. It’s his boat and he says it has to be taken out regularly. He says they’re like dogs, they have to be exercised.’

They climbed out of the SUV. They were both wearing jeans and waterproof jackets and trainers. The weather forecast had been good for the day with no rain but it could still get chilly out on the water. Shepherd opened the back and took out a blue and white cooler.

He locked up the car and they walked through the marina. ‘You’ve been on the boat before?’

‘A couple of times. She offered at the family day and I had some leave due. I came down with Ant and had a great time. Then last month I came down from Yeovilton on my own.’ Liam flew Wildcat helicopters for the British Army’s Air Corps 659 Squadron based in Yeovilton in Somerset.

‘Ant’s her brother?’

‘Yeah, Anton. We went through training together and now we’re in the same unit.’

‘Which one’s Maverick and which one’s Goose?’

Liam laughed. ‘It’s not Top Gun, Dad. And we don’t fly together. But yeah, if it was Top Gun, he’d insist on being Maverick. He’s thinking of transferring to the Apache.’

‘That’s a hell of a machine,’ said Shepherd.

Liam shrugged. ‘I’m happy with the Wildcat,’ he said. ‘The Apache is awesome but at the end of the day it’s just you and the co-pilot looking for things to shoot at. Anton is mad keen, but then he’s been playing Call of Duty since he was a kid. I like the Wildcat because there are always other people involved. You’re moving them around or rescuing them or transporting stuff that people need, or doing reconnaissance or fire control and command and control. We’ve got missile capability and a door gunner so we can shoot if we have to, but that’s not our prime mission.’

‘You’re enjoying it, obviously.’

‘I love it. I love everything about it. I love the flying but I love being part of a group, you know? It’s like we’re in a gang, and we all take care of each other.’

Shepherd nodded. ‘Like a family.’

‘Yeah. That’s what it feels like. I mean, I know you did your best after Mum died but we never really had a family, not a real family. You were my dad and all, but you were away a lot.’ He saw Shepherd’s face fall and he put his arm around him and squeezed. ‘I’m not getting at you. You were a great dad. You still are. I mean, how many kids grow up with a real-life hero for a father? But I was on my own a lot of the time, and now I’m not.’

Shepherd knew exactly what Liam meant. The SAS had become his surrogate family and in many ways it still was. It had been more than twenty years since he had left the Regiment but his closest friends were still from those days, and he had never felt safer than when he had been surrounded by his SAS comrades.

‘They’re talking about sending me to Belize later this year, so that’ll be fun.’

Shepherd laughed. ‘Yeah, I’ve got fond memories of my time in Belize – not.’

‘That’s right, that’s where the SAS does the jungle phase of selection, isn’t it?’

Shepherd nodded. To join the elite Regiment, recruits were tested to their limits, physically and mentally. For every one hundred applicants only about eight were allowed to wear the coveted beige beret. The first phase – endurance, fitness and navigation – was usually called ‘the hills stage’ because it took place in the Brecon Beacons in South Wales. Candidates had to carry weighted Bergens over a series of timed marches. The hills stage was physically demanding but at least you could prepare for it. The second phase – jungle training – was actually much harder. Candidates were helicoptered into the Belize jungle and had to live in four-man patrols for several weeks, surviving and patrolling in wet and miserable conditions on minimal rations. The third and final phase was escape and evasion followed by tactical questioning. It was back to the Brecon Beacons where the recruits had to survive in the open for up to three days, before being interrogated and subjected to near torture. The recruits weren’t physically tortured but they were treated roughly, forced into stress positions and deprived of sleep. It wasn’t pleasant, but like most troopers Shepherd had found it a lot less stressful than the jungle phase.

‘And that’s where you got your nickname, of course,’ said Liam.

Shepherd grinned. ‘Yeah. Funny how it works. You eat one tarantula for a bet and you get a nickname that sticks with you your whole life. How about you? Did they give you a nickname?’

‘They tried to call me Sheep-Shagger but I nipped that in the bud.’

‘That’s normally for the Welsh. You’re not Welsh.’

‘Shepherd. Sheep-Shagger.’ He laughed. ‘Like I said, I nipped it in the bud, but I ended up with Skills.’

‘Skills? How does that work?’

‘Liam. So Liam Neeson, right. And in that movie Taken he says he has a particular set of skills, remember? So when I was being trained, one of the instructors said I needed to work on my hovering skills and someone did that Liam Neeson quote and the next thing I know I’m Skills.’

‘Better than Sheep-Shagger.’

‘Definitely.’ He pointed ahead of them. ‘There she is.’

Shepherd wasn’t sure if the ‘she’ referred to the yacht or the girl but he looked in the direction Liam was pointing.

The yacht was gleaming white with a single mast and two wheels at the stern and two narrow windows in the hull. The girl was a tall West Indian with shoulder-length frizzy hair and bright red lipstick that matched her nail varnish. She was wearing light blue jeans with ripped knees and a dark blue Cambridge University sweatshirt with the sleeves pulled up. She waved when she saw Liam and he waved back.

They walked along the jetty towards the yacht and by the time they reached it she had jumped down and was waiting for them. Liam hugged her and she put her arms around his neck and kissed him on the lips.

Liam broke away first, his cheeks reddening. ‘Dad, this is Naomi. Though you probably guessed that by the PDA.’

Naomi laughed. ‘He really hates public displays of affection.’ She held out her hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Shepherd. Liam talks about you all the time.’

He shook her slim hand. Her skin was soft and her nails were long and slightly pointed. They definitely weren’t a sailor’s hands. ‘Great to finally meet you,’ said Shepherd. ‘Liam has told me next to nothing about you.’

‘Dad!’ Liam turned to look at her with imploring eyes. ‘That’s not true. Really. It’s just that I’m not at home much and he never calls me.’

‘I was joking, Liam,’ said Shepherd. He grinned at Naomi. ‘And call me Dan. Thanks so much for inviting me. It’s been a while since I’ve been on a yacht.’

‘So have you sailed before?’

‘Actually I had my first serious sailing lesson out of this very marina a few years ago,’ said Shepherd. ‘My boss at the time took me out. It was a Catalina 375, if that means anything.’

‘Nice boat. Fibreglass, made in America, twelve metres. This is a bit smaller. It’s a Jeanneau Sun Odyssey, just under nine metres. My dad bought it ten years ago and I helped him sail it over from France.’

‘Liam says your dad’s not well. I’m sorry about that.’

‘He’s okay, I guess. He just gets tired and he doesn’t sleep well. If he just stays in the house and lets Mum take care of him, he’s fine. But even a short walk has him short of breath. So he makes me take the boat out every couple of weeks. They have to be used or they start to seize up.’

Shepherd held up the cooler. ‘We brought food and I wasn’t sure where you stood on drinking and sailing so there’s wine, beer and soft drinks.’

‘Have you ever known a sailor who doesn’t drink?’ she said. ‘I’ll put it in the galley.’

She climbed onto the deck and held out her hand. He gave her the cooler and she headed down a hatchway. As she disappeared from view, Shepherd looked over at Liam and nodded his approval.

Liam laughed. ‘You’re mad.’

‘She’s lovely.’

‘Yeah, I know.’

Liam climbed onto the boat and Shepherd joined him. ‘She obviously likes you.’

Liam opened his mouth to reply but shut it when Naomi reappeared. She had put on a blue fleece over her sweatshirt and tied her hair back. ‘I had a peek at the wine,’ she said to Shepherd. ‘Nice choice. I’ve put it in the fridge.’ She climbed through the hatch and closed it. ‘So this boss of yours, how much did he teach you?’

‘Really just the basics. Mainly went through the terminology. Leeward, windward, tacking, jibing, halyard, downhaul, the kicker, boom yang, backstays.’ He laughed. ‘It was like learning another language.’

‘He must have been a good teacher, you seem to have remembered it all.’

‘Dad’s got a trick memory,’ said Liam. ‘He remembers pretty much everything he sees or hears.’

‘What do they call that?’ asked Naomi. ‘Eidetic memory, right?’

‘That’s it,’ said Shepherd. ‘I certainly never forget a face or something I’ve been told.’

‘And you can imagine what a pain that is when you’re growing up,’ said Liam. ‘Difficult to pull the wool over the eyes of a parent who remembers every single thing you’ve ever told him.’

‘I wish you remembered everything I told you,’ said Naomi. ‘He’s not a great student. Put him at the controls of a helicopter and he’s a happy bunny, but tell him to pull on the downhaul and he stands there like I’ve asked him to pat his head and rub his stomach at the same time.’

Liam laughed and gave her a hug. ‘I’m trying,’ he said, ‘I just get frustrated at travelling so slowly.’

‘I know,’ she said. ‘You feel the need, the need for speed.’ She patted him on the cheek. ‘Okay, so you get the engine started and head out of the marina. Dan, do you want to cast off the docklines?’

Shepherd threw her a mock salute. ‘Aye aye, captain.’

‘Victor One is approaching the end of the motorway,’ said Charlie One in Sage’s ear. ‘We’re about to encounter London traffic so all Foxtrots prepare to disembark.’ Foxtrot was the call sign of the bikes, presumably F for Follower but he hadn’t asked for an explanation. He was Foxtrot 6, which was all that mattered. Ellis was Foxtrot 5 and Taylor was Foxtrot 4.

‘Victor One and Victor Two have now left the motorway and are heading east on the A40.’ There was then a flurry of instructions as the controller ordered several of the vehicles to move in front of the vans. They all had the call sign Sierra, which Sage assumed came from Surveillance. The radio then fell silent for several minutes and Sage figured she was on another channel arranging more coverage in the city.

Taylor had a mobile phone showing Google Maps clipped to his handlebars and he peered at it. ‘RAF Northolt coming up on the left,’ he said. ‘Possible target.’

‘Nah, they’ve got armed guards and these jihadi bastards only ever shoot at civilians,’ said Sage. ‘If anyone ever fires back they piss themselves.’

Taylor laughed. ‘Yeah, I hear you,’ he said. ‘We were in Iraq a few years back helping the cops with their training programme. Every time their guns went bang they flinched and closed their eyes. They’re not great when things go bang. So what do you think?’

Sage shrugged. ‘Like the secret squirrel woman said at the briefing, they prefer shopping malls, lots of civilians and little in the way of security. Or a shopping street. Oxford Street is damn near perfect. They could start at one end and in a hundred yards kill dozens of people.’

‘If it was me, I’d take the bastards out now,’ said Ellis. ‘Waiting until they come piling out of the vans is cutting it too close.’

Taylor nodded in agreement. ‘We should have gone in when they were in the warehouse. Throw in a few flash bangs, go in guns blazing, and Robert’s your father’s brother.’

‘Nah, I get why we’re letting them run. Like she said, they don’t know who else might be involved. There could be more than one cell and if we take out this one, the other cell could carry on. This way we can assess the target and keep an eye out for other attackers.’

Ellis gulped down a chunk of burger. He rarely chewed his food, he ate like a dog, biting and swallowing in one smooth movement. ‘I didn’t get that,’ he said. ‘They’ve got their undercover guy, Tango One, but he doesn’t seem to have a clue as to what’s going on.’

‘Because he’s low down on the totem pole and they’re giving him the mushroom treatment,’ said Sage. ‘You have to look at the position he’s in. If they even suspect that he’s an informer, can you imagine what they’d do to him? He’s not going to put himself at risk by asking too many questions.’

‘Mate, he can’t even tell us what the target is,’ said Taylor.

‘They probably haven’t told any of them,’ said Sage. ‘Probably only the drivers know. These guys are pretty clued up on security. We think of them as ragheads and camel jockeys but these are the bastards that pulled off Nine-Eleven and Seven-Seven.’

‘So where do you think they’re headed?’ asked Ellis.

Sage took a bite of his burger as he considered the question. Unlike Taylor, he didn’t need to consult a GPS to know where he was and where he was heading. Navigation and map-reading had always been his strengths and his knowledge of London was as good as any cab driver’s. ‘Like Mrs Spook said, somewhere with a lot of people who can’t shoot back. The way we’re heading we’re going to pass through White City and then the Westway leads to Paddington. The station’s a perfect target. Of course if they head south from there, then we’ve got Hyde Park, Mayfair, Westminster.’

‘The Houses of Parliament again?’ said Ellis.

‘Doubtful,’ said Sage. ‘They’ve beefed up security since that lone wolf attack in 2017.’

‘Yeah, but at least they blew that raghead away,’ said Ellis. ‘I heard that there were twenty rounds in him by the time they’d finished.’

‘He wasn’t a raghead,’ said Sage. ‘He was a Brit convert.’ Adrian Russell Elms was a cocaine user and violent criminal who had become a Muslim and taken the name Khalid Masood before driving his car into crowds of pedestrians on Westminster Bridge, then running towards the Houses of Parliament and stabbing an unarmed police officer to death. ‘Also he was acting alone. Just a nutter with a car and a knife. What’s happening today is a totally different ball game. These guys are well organised and armed, and probably fought with ISIS overseas. That’s why we’re on the case.’

‘Yeah, Mrs Spook was a bit vague on that score, wasn’t she?’ said Taylor. He shoved a handful of French fries into his mouth and continued to chew and talk. ‘How did they get into the country in the first place? None of them are Brits, right? All hardened ISIS fighters by the sound of it.’

‘She said the guys doing the driving were British born, but the ones in the back are from overseas,’ said Ellis.

‘Obvious, innit?’ said Taylor. ‘They’ve been pouring in from France, packed onto small boats. Border Farce meets them and brings them in and then checks them into the nearest Premier Inn. They turn up with no passport or ID and no one gives a fuck.’

Ellis nodded enthusiastically. ‘It’s a laugh, it really is. I mean how hard can it be to put someone who arrives in this country illegally behind bars until it has been proved beyond any doubt who they are? If they’re genuinely fleeing for their lives, all well and good. But if there’s any doubt, you keep them under lock and key, end of. Instead we give them houses and money and put them in our schools, and then when the shit finally hits the fan we get called to clear up the mess.’ He looked at Sage and Taylor in turn. ‘Well, am I right or am I right?’

‘You’re not wrong,’ said Taylor.

Ellis looked expectantly at Sage, waiting for him to agree, but as Sage opened his mouth, the woman came in over the radio.

‘Victor One and Victor Two are still heading towards central London, now on the Westway,’ said the voice in Sage’s ear. ‘And to confirm, we have no intel on any further targets. So far we have only Victor One and Victor Two as target vehicles.’

‘How would they know?’ asked Ellis.

‘They’ll be monitoring mobile phone traffic,’ said Sage. ‘If they were planning to meet up with other units, they’d have to talk to them.’

‘If they know that for sure, we should take them out now,’ said Taylor. He screwed up his burger wrapper and tossed it into the corner of the van.

Sage knew that Taylor was right. The longer they held off from confronting the jihadists, the more chance there was of civilians getting hurt. But they were just pawns in this game, all the decisions were being taken back at MI5’s headquarters and no one was asking the troops for their opinions.

‘Alphas One, Two and Three, prepare to disembark Foxtrots,’ said Charlie One, using the code signs of the three removal vans.

‘Here we go,’ said Taylor. He grabbed his helmet and pulled it on.

‘We will carry out the disembarkation in stages,’ said the woman over the radio. ‘Alpha Three first, followed by Alpha Two and Alpha One. All Foxtrots to head east on the Westway. All Foxtrots respond in order now for comms check.’

Sage pulled on his helmet and adjusted the strap. They were in Alpha Two.

‘Foxtrot One, check.’ A West Country accent over the radio. It was one of the CTSFOs, a new face to Sage. The CTSFOs were cops, and while they didn’t come close to the SAS’s fitness standards, they were pretty much their equal when it came to handling their weapons.

‘Foxtrot Two, check.’ A Scouser. SAS. A relatively new recruit that Sage had only met once before in the barracks. His nickname was ‘Grassy’ so Sage assumed his family name was Fields or Meadows or something grass-related.

‘Foxtrot Three, check.’ A Brummie. Another CTSFO, a big bruiser of a man who dwarfed his bike. His name was Michael Burton and Sage had trained with him at the SAS’s barracks in Credenhill two years previously.

‘Foxtrot Four, check,’ said Taylor.

‘Foxtrot Five, check,’ said Ellis.

‘Foxtrot Six, check,’ said Sage.

The three other bikes checked in, nine in all.

‘Alpha Three, pull over,’ said the woman.

The removal vans had been fine for following the trucks on the motorway but they were too big to use in the city. Once the bikes had disembarked, the removal vans would leave the surveillance up to the Foxtrots and the Sierras.

‘Alpha Three has pulled over,’ said Charlie One. ‘Opening rear door now.’

In less than a minute Foxtrots Seven, Eight and Nine had checked in and confirmed that they were mobile. Then the driver of Alpha Three confirmed that the truck was on the move again.

‘Alpha Two prepare to pull over,’ said Charlie One. The removal van slowed and juddered to a halt. Sage started the engine of his scooter and Ellis and Taylor did the same. The rear door rattled up and the driver and the front-seat passenger, both burly men in brown overalls, pulled out a ramp and lowered it to the ground. There was a queue of cars behind the truck and several started to pound their horns angrily. Taylor drove down the ramp first, followed by Ellis. Sage brought up the rear.

Taylor pulled a sharp turn around the truck and sped off down the road. ‘Foxtrot Four is mobile,’ he said over the radio.

A white van swerved from behind the removal van to overtake and the driver pounded on his horn and swore angrily at Ellis. Ellis had to brake sharply to avoid a collision. The white van roared off. ‘Arsehole,’ muttered Ellis. He accelerated away, notifying the controller that he was mobile.

More vehicles were following the example of the white van driver, pulling out and venting their frustration with their horns. Several drivers gave Sage the finger but he just smiled and waited for a gap in the traffic. ‘Foxtrot Six is mobile,’ he said, then pulled out after a Mercedes sports car and accelerated past the removal van. The driver and his mate pushed the ramp back and hurried to the cab accompanied by a cacophony of angry horns.

‘Do you want to get the wine, Dan?’ asked Naomi. She was standing by the starboard wheel having brought the yacht onto a course parallel to the shore, now about three miles off to their left. ‘And Liam, can you bring in the sail just a bit.’

‘Sure,’ said Shepherd. He ducked down through the hatchway and down a couple of steps into the main cabin. It was spotless, all polished pine and stainless steel. There was a compact galley to his left with a small fridge and he opened the door. The wine and beer were there, along with the sandwiches and snacks they’d bought from a Marks and Spencer outlet on the way to Brighton. There was a tray tucked in next to the microwave and he pulled it out and placed the food and drinks on it, along with three wine glasses. As he picked up the tray he noticed two envelopes on top of the microwave, both addressed to Kingston Clarke, sent care of the marina office, presumably Naomi’s father.

He carefully carried the tray up the steps and onto the deck. The boat had slowed and Naomi had activated the autopilot. She helped Shepherd put the food out on a small table and pulled a Swiss Army knife from the pocket of her fleece. She flicked out a corkscrew and handed it to Liam. ‘Can you do the honours?’

‘Happy to,’ said Liam, and he deftly pulled out the cork. Shepherd couldn’t help but notice how easily the girl was able to get them to do what she wanted. It just seemed natural to carry out her instructions, especially as she always asked wit