‘I don’t think they’ll go with complete outsiders,’ said Fenby. ‘I’ll have to vouch for you personally.’
‘They’ll trust you with this?’ asked Shepherd.
Fenby shrugged again. ‘They’ve no reason to doubt me. I’ve proved myself often enough.’
The superintendent tapped a pen on the table and flashed Fenby a warning look.
Fenby looked pained. ‘You know what it’s like undercover. I’m one of the lads. We talk the same language, walk the same walk. I haven’t put a foot wrong so far.’
‘The problem is that we don’t have a large undercover squad,’ said the superintendent. ‘And those that we do have are more used to drugs work than weapons.’
Hargrove nodded. ‘I think we can put something together,’ he said.
‘That’s good to hear,’ said the superintendent. ‘How do we move it forward?’
‘We need to arrange a meeting, through Ray here. Put Kettering and Thompson together with Jimmy and Dan. Get them to spell out what they want.’
‘And you’ll have the guns?’
‘Not at the first meeting,’ said Hargrove. ‘Arms dealers are like drug dealers; they’re not comfortable selling to people they don’t know. You might be able to buy a cheap handgun from a stranger in Brixton, but the big stuff is too sensitive. No dealer would sell guns on the first meeting. And any sale would be done in very controlled circumstances.’
‘Can we do that here? In Birmingham?’
Hargrove wrinkled his nose. ‘Any dealer worth his salt is going to expect the buyer to come to him. At least in the first instance. If we appear too keen it’s going to look suspicious.’
‘So London?’
‘Home turf, yes. For the initial meeting. We’ll get a sense of what they want and decide how to run it.’
‘And what about surveillance?’
‘For the first meeting I’d suggest a totally hands-off approach. Everyone tends to be on edge.’
The superintendent nodded but didn’t look happy. ‘You’re the expert,’ he said. ‘Obviously we’ll follow your lead.’
‘We’ll give you a full report of what happens in London and we’ll arrange for the sale to take place up here,’ said Hargrove. He looked at his wristwatch. ‘Before we head back, I’d like Dan and Jimmy here to be given full access to the investigation files that you have.’
‘I can’t let you take anything out of the building,’ said the superintendent quickly. ‘We’ve kept all our files off the mainframe. Everything is either on paper under lock and key, or on two laptops.’ He tapped his computer. ‘This is one. They’re under lock and key too and never leave the building.’
‘That’s not a problem.’ Hargrove nodded at Shepherd. ‘Dan has a photographic memory so he won’t even have to take notes.’
‘Useful skill,’ said the superintendent.
‘It’s stood me in good stead so far,’ said Shepherd.
Hargrove, Shepherd and Sharpe reached the outskirts of London at nine o’clock in the evening. Hargrove dropped them in Hampstead High Street, not far from the Starbucks where he’d picked them up. Shepherd and Sharpe waved as Hargrove drove away.
‘Like the good old days,’ said Sharpe.
‘What do you mean, us standing out in the cold while he drives off in a warm car?’
‘You know what I mean,’ said Sharpe, punching him on the shoulder. ‘We were a bloody good team.’ He looked around. ‘Is there a half-decent pub near here?’
‘I quite like Ye Olde White Bear.’
‘Do ye now?’ laughed Sharpe. ‘Then lead on, McDuff.’
Shepherd took him towards the Heath and into the pub. Sharpe pulled out his wallet and bought a pint of lager for himself and a Jameson’s, ice and soda for Shepherd. A football game was playing on an overhead screen.
‘So what’s it like, being at the Met?’ asked Shepherd after they had clinked glasses.
Sharpe pulled a face as if he had a bad taste in his mouth. ‘The whole multicultural-community bollocks gets on my nerves, but at least with Hargrove I get to do real police work and put some real villains behind bars. You know what he’s like; he protects you from the shit that comes running downhill.’ He sipped his lager. ‘That whole SOCA nonsense — bloody waste of time from the get-go.’
‘No arguments here,’ said Shepherd.
‘They should have left us with the Met instead of forcing us to work with Customs officers and tax inspectors. Whoever thought that was a good idea should be put up against a wall and shot. SOCA turned into the worst sort of bureaucracy and didn’t put away a single high-profile villain. And what did it cost? Billions? All of it money down the drain.’
‘Water under the bridge now, Razor.’
‘Maybe, but one of the reasons that the cops are so under-resourced is because so much was put into SOCA. Like the bloody NHS: too many chiefs and not enough Indians.’ He took another drink of lager. ‘What about Five? What’s it like there?’
‘Can’t tell you, Razor. Official Secrets Act and all that.’
‘Screw you.’
Shepherd grinned. ‘It’s okay. It’s not as bureaucratic as SOCA and money never seems to be an issue.’
‘And the lovely Charlotte?’
‘She’s a good boss, Razor, no matter what you think.’
Sharpe put down his glass and raised his hands in surrender. ‘I didn’t say anything.’
‘Put your bloody hands down, you idiot. Charlie’s like Hargrove — she takes any flak that’s flying about.’
‘And tells you the bare minimum.’
‘It’s the Security Service, Razor. Most of what goes on is on a need-to-know basis.’
‘Yeah? Well, I like to know exactly why I’m putting my balls on the line. I can’t abide all that secret squirrel stuff.’ He picked up his glass again.
‘Yeah, maybe I’m not totally in the loop but the money makes up for that,’ said Shepherd. ‘Do you want to talk pay grades? You went back into the Met as a DS?’
‘Detective Inspector,’ said Sharpe, squaring his shoulders. ‘Hargrove pushed through a promotion.’
‘Yeah, well, DIs don’t get overtime, and trust me, I’m paid a shedload more than you.’