climbed out. He was wearing a quilted jacket, baggy jeans and fingerless wool gloves. He had a set of keys and selected one to open a wooden door at the side of the loading bay.
‘What was it used for?’ asked Omar.
‘They made something,’ said the man. ‘Back in the days when this country made things. Some machine. Who cares?’ He opened the door and Omar and Faisal followed him inside. There was a sour, musty smell and piles of rat droppings by the walls. The floor was dusty, the concrete disfigured with countless stains, the walls dotted with cobwebs. ‘It’s been empty for years. The company that owned it went bust but the liquidators went bust too and now it’s in limbo.’
‘It’s for sale, though?’
‘Supposedly, but in reality, no. No one’s looked at it for months. I got them to give me a short-term lease on it for cash. I said I wanted somewhere for storage, short term. They practically bit my hand off.’
Omar looked at Faisal. ‘What do you think?’
Faisal nodded. ‘It’s big enough. And there’s plenty of room for spraying.’
‘The lease is for six months and I’ve done it through a shell company that will end up untraceable,’ said the man. He handed Omar the keys. ‘Okay, brother, I’ll leave you to it.’
‘ Jazak allahu khayran ,’ said Omar. May Allah reward you with all good things.
The man grinned. ‘He already has, brother. He already has.’
Even through the orange plastic earplugs the drone of the four turboprop engines of the Lockheed Martin C1130J Super Hercules was mind-numbing. Shepherd was no stranger to the plane, which had been around in various forms for more than sixty years. He’d flown in it hundreds of times during his time in the SAS and jumped out of one on more than a dozen occasions. Shepherd was sitting on a jumpseat attached to the fuselage, holding a plastic bottle of Evian water, the only refreshment he’d been offered by the predominantly French crew. The main hold was packed with pallets of food, medicine and water, while plastic trunks contained donated clothing and the equipment needed to keep a refugee camp running. No one had asked him for any identification, or said anything other than that he was to fasten his harness and that there were no toilet facilities on the plane.
Shepherd took a sip of the tepid water. Shuttleworth was inexperienced; of that there was no doubt. The question about the fire extinguishers had been a test, and the MI6 officer had failed. It was all about being aware of one’s surroundings. Whenever you went into a new place it was vital to check possible threats and escape routes. Fire extinguishers were important: if there was an explosion or a fire then an extinguisher could be a life-saver, but it could also be used as a weapon or distraction, and could batter down a door or smash a window. Shuttleworth didn’t know where they were, which suggested he hadn’t given the venue the once-over. Post Nine Eleven and Seven Seven, the UK’s security services had gone on a recruiting spree and standards had dropped. Shuttleworth had the confidence bordering on arrogance that suggested a public-school and Oxbridge education, but being successful at intelligence work wasn’t dependent on education. More often than not it required street smarts and cunning.The fact that Shuttleworth had failed the fire-extinguisher test meant that Shepherd had to regard everything else he did as suspect, but more importantly it begged the question as to why Willoughby-Brown had entrusted the assignment to him.
The closest airport to the Suruç refugee camp was Şanlıurfa GAP, some eight hundred miles from Istanbul, which took the Hercules just under two hours. The pilots were good and the landing was as smooth as silk. After five minutes of taxiing and a further ten minutes waiting, the back ramp slowly went down, allowing the hot desert air in. Shepherd took out his Ray-Bans and put them on, then unclipped his harness, and stood up
‘What was it used for?’ asked Omar.
‘They made something,’ said the man. ‘Back in the days when this country made things. Some machine. Who cares?’ He opened the door and Omar and Faisal followed him inside. There was a sour, musty smell and piles of rat droppings by the walls. The floor was dusty, the concrete disfigured with countless stains, the walls dotted with cobwebs. ‘It’s been empty for years. The company that owned it went bust but the liquidators went bust too and now it’s in limbo.’
‘It’s for sale, though?’
‘Supposedly, but in reality, no. No one’s looked at it for months. I got them to give me a short-term lease on it for cash. I said I wanted somewhere for storage, short term. They practically bit my hand off.’
Omar looked at Faisal. ‘What do you think?’
Faisal nodded. ‘It’s big enough. And there’s plenty of room for spraying.’
‘The lease is for six months and I’ve done it through a shell company that will end up untraceable,’ said the man. He handed Omar the keys. ‘Okay, brother, I’ll leave you to it.’
‘ Jazak allahu khayran ,’ said Omar. May Allah reward you with all good things.
The man grinned. ‘He already has, brother. He already has.’
Even through the orange plastic earplugs the drone of the four turboprop engines of the Lockheed Martin C1130J Super Hercules was mind-numbing. Shepherd was no stranger to the plane, which had been around in various forms for more than sixty years. He’d flown in it hundreds of times during his time in the SAS and jumped out of one on more than a dozen occasions. Shepherd was sitting on a jumpseat attached to the fuselage, holding a plastic bottle of Evian water, the only refreshment he’d been offered by the predominantly French crew. The main hold was packed with pallets of food, medicine and water, while plastic trunks contained donated clothing and the equipment needed to keep a refugee camp running. No one had asked him for any identification, or said anything other than that he was to fasten his harness and that there were no toilet facilities on the plane.
Shepherd took a sip of the tepid water. Shuttleworth was inexperienced; of that there was no doubt. The question about the fire extinguishers had been a test, and the MI6 officer had failed. It was all about being aware of one’s surroundings. Whenever you went into a new place it was vital to check possible threats and escape routes. Fire extinguishers were important: if there was an explosion or a fire then an extinguisher could be a life-saver, but it could also be used as a weapon or distraction, and could batter down a door or smash a window. Shuttleworth didn’t know where they were, which suggested he hadn’t given the venue the once-over. Post Nine Eleven and Seven Seven, the UK’s security services had gone on a recruiting spree and standards had dropped. Shuttleworth had the confidence bordering on arrogance that suggested a public-school and Oxbridge education, but being successful at intelligence work wasn’t dependent on education. More often than not it required street smarts and cunning.The fact that Shuttleworth had failed the fire-extinguisher test meant that Shepherd had to regard everything else he did as suspect, but more importantly it begged the question as to why Willoughby-Brown had entrusted the assignment to him.
The closest airport to the Suruç refugee camp was Şanlıurfa GAP, some eight hundred miles from Istanbul, which took the Hercules just under two hours. The pilots were good and the landing was as smooth as silk. After five minutes of taxiing and a further ten minutes waiting, the back ramp slowly went down, allowing the hot desert air in. Shepherd took out his Ray-Bans and put them on, then unclipped his harness, and stood up
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