'In this case, the commissioner for the Met has asked for our a.s.sistance.'

'Then you should just say we're too busy,' said Shepherd. 'I didn't sign up to investigate cops.'

'Perhaps "asked" is the wrong word,' said b.u.t.ton. 'The commissioner spoke to the Home Secretary and the Home Secretary spoke to my boss and my boss spoke to me and now I'm telling you two that your next a.s.signment is to investigate these cops. And you can huff and puff as much as you want but at the end of the day that's what you're going to be doing.'

Shepherd sighed. 'Has anyone looked at the crime stats for the area that these guys work in?'

'Crime's down, if that's what you're getting at,' said b.u.t.ton.

'That's exactly what I'm getting at,' said Shepherd. 'If they're running drug-dealers out of town and crippling housebreakers and putting bad guys behind bars by whatever means, then I figure all the crime stats will be on the way down.'

'Please don't even think about saying that the end justifies the means.'

Shepherd opened his mouth to reply but then thought better of it. There was no point in arguing with b.u.t.ton because basically she was right. It didn't matter what the profession, a criminal was a criminal and SOCA was in the business of putting away criminals.

'And what am I doing while Spider's getting up close and personal with the TSG?' said Sharpe.

b.u.t.ton flashed him a sarcastic smile. 'I'm so glad you asked, Razor,' she said. 'I've got the perfect job for you. Infiltrating a right-wing racist group.'

Sharpe frowned. 'What?'

'Do you remember a while back when a membership list of the British National Party was posted on-line and it turned out that there were police officers on it?'

Sharpe nodded.

'The powers-that-be already had the list, as it happens, but because it was in the public domain we had to act. We've been a bit more circ.u.mspect with another list that we got our hands on some time ago. It's an organisation called England First, made up of a lot of the heavies in the National Front who weren't palatable enough for the BNP. And it looks as if one of the TSG sergeants is a member. Gary Dawson.' She put a photograph of a grey-haired man in his mid-forties on the whiteboard.

'How stupid is he to let his name appear on a membership list?' asked Shepherd.

'Give him some credit,' said b.u.t.ton. 'He used a false name, but there was a pay-as-you-go mobile on the list that we've traced to him. Razor, I need you to make contact with England First and worm your way in. With your tendency to make off-the-cuff racist statements, I'm sure you'll have no problem blending in.'

'I resemble that remark,' joked Sharpe. He grinned. 'You know I'm a changed man after the racial-awareness course you sent me on?'

'Yes, Razor, we're all very impressed with how you've managed to drag yourself into the third millennium.'

'But now you want me to undo all that good work by having me pretend to be a dyed-in-the-wool racist?'

b.u.t.ton flashed him another sarcastic smile. 'I'm sure you'll do your best,' she said. 'I'll get someone to brief you on England First.'

'A spook?' Sharpe grinned again. 'And by that I mean a member of the Secret Service, of course.'

'It'll be an intelligence briefing,' said b.u.t.ton. 'And I'm sure it'll make clear just how dangerous these people are. You're going to have to watch yourself, Razor. They're the guys who throw petrol bombs through the windows of Asian families and beat up black kids on the streets.'

'What are you saying, Charlie?' asked Shepherd. 'Are you saying these vigilante cops are racist?'

'It's a possibility,' said b.u.t.ton. 'A high proportion of the cases we're looking at involve Afro-Caribbean males.'

'You're saying that they're targeting black criminals? Or is it that the criminals they're targeting happen to be black?'

'That's a question I hope you'll be able to answer, Spider.'

'It's going to be messy, you know that. There'll be ramifications, either way.'

'I'm aware of what a can of worms this is,' said b.u.t.ton. 'And so's the commissioner.'

'Every case they've been involved in, any criminal they dealt with, they're all going to be given get-out-of-jail-free cards.'

'Probably.'

'And if it's racism, it'll rip the Met apart.'

b.u.t.ton frowned. 'Are you suggesting that we don't do anything? Let sleeping dogs lie?'

Shepherd shook his head. 'Of course not,' he said. 'But if you know that Dawson's rotten, then split him and his team up. Disperse them. That'll put an end to it.'

'Or spread the virus throughout the force,' she said.

'Service,' said Sharpe.

'What?' said b.u.t.ton.

'It's not a police force any more,' said Sharpe. 'It's a service. Which is part of the problem. If the public respected the police the way they used to, and if cops were allowed to deal with villains the way they used to, then there wouldn't be any need for vigilantes.'

'Yes, well, we've moved on since the glory days of the eighties,' said b.u.t.ton. 'We're now dealing with policing in the third millennium and, be it a force or a service, we can't afford to let the bad apples infect the whole barrel. We have to find out which ones are rotten and weed them out.'

'Publicly?' said Shepherd.

'That'll be up to the commissioner and the Crown Prosecution Service,' said b.u.t.ton.

'Because the great British public is probably going to think they're heroes,' said Shepherd.

'That's not our problem,' said b.u.t.ton. 'We go in, get the facts, and leave. What happens then is for someone else to decide. And as much as I understand your reservations, we don't get to pick and choose what we do.' She waved at the photographs on the whiteboard. 'These are our targets, and for the foreseeable future, you'll have them in your sights.'

'I was hoping for a week or two's leave,' said Shepherd. 'It's been a month since I spent more than one night at home.'

b.u.t.ton sat down and picked up her tea. 'There's something else I have to tell you both,' she said. Shepherd frowned. He could tell from her tone that it was bad news, and even before she spoke he knew what she would say. 'I'm going to be leaving SOCA before the end of the year,' she said.

'Back to Five?' asked Sharpe, putting into words exactly what Shepherd had been thinking.

b.u.t.ton nodded. 'I'm to head up the International Counter-terrorism Branch,' she said.

'It's a big job,' said Shepherd. 'You've earned it.'

'I'll miss you guys,' she said. 'I mean that.'

'We were always a stepping-stone,' said Shepherd. 'We knew that from the start.'

b.u.t.ton raised her eyebrows. 'Spider, the job meant more to me than that,' she said.

Shepherd shrugged. He didn't want to get into an argument with his boss but he wasn't happy at her leaving. 'I'm not saying you weren't committed or that you weren't good at the job, I'm just saying that you always saw SOCA as a temporary a.s.signment.'

'I'm not sure that's true,' said b.u.t.ton. 'But there aren't the opportunities within SOCA that I'll get within Five.'

'Yeah, at least they let women run MI5, which is more than SOCA does,' said Sharpe.

'Is that the plan, Charlie?' asked Shepherd. 'Director General one day?'

b.u.t.ton smiled. 'That's a long way off, Spider,' she said.

Shepherd leaned back in his chair and stretched out his legs. 'Do you know who your successor is going to be?'

'They haven't told me yet,' she said. 'As soon as I know, you'll know.' She sipped her tea. 'I'd be grateful if you wouldn't say anything for a day or two. I want to tell everyone in the unit personally, rather than having them hear second-hand.'

Shepherd and Sharpe nodded.

'Hopefully we'll have tied this operation up before I go,' said b.u.t.ton.

'And if we don't?' said Shepherd.

'Let's cross that bridge when we come to it,' said b.u.t.ton.

The barman put the Jameson's and soda in front of Shepherd and gave Sharpe his pint of lager. 'A rat deserting the sinking ship,' said Sharpe. 'I knew we couldn't trust her.'

'SOCA isn't exactly a sinking ship,' said Shepherd. The two men went to a corner table. They were in the pub around the corner from the office where b.u.t.ton had briefed them.

Sharpe tossed his sheepskin jacket over the back of a chair and sat down on a bench seat. 'Let's face it, Spider, SOCA's successes are few and far between,' he said. 'It was set up to bust organised crime and what are we doing? Investigating plod. Why aren't we going after the real criminals? We know who they are, and we know what they're doing.'

'Knowing and proving are different things,' said Shepherd, sinking into a chair opposite Sharpe's bench.

'It's because SOCA's run by bean-counters,' said Sharpe. 'They work out what an investigation is going to cost, and it just costs too much to go after the big boys because they're so well protected. You and I know half a dozen guys in Amsterdam who are responsible for a quarter of the drugs coming into this country, but do we go after them? Do we h.e.l.l. They send us after bank robbers and small-time drug-dealers and now they want us to investigate cops. Why? Because they're easy options, that's why. I think b.u.t.ton's doing the right thing, jumping ship now. She can see which way the wind's blowing. I tell you, I'm thinking about going back to the Met.'

'Are you serious?'

'At least I'd be going up against real villains. This going up against cops really p.i.s.ses me off. Professional Standards is supposed to investigate cops, not us. You heard me tell her. But did she listen?'

'She's between a rock and a hard place,' said Shepherd. 'If the Met commissioner asks the Home Secretary for SOCA's help, she can hardly say no.'

'No, she can't, because it might put the brakes on her meteoric rise to the top.'

'You're a cynical b.a.s.t.a.r.d,' said Shepherd.

'And you cut her too much slack because you want to get into her pants.'

Shepherd's eyes narrowed. 'Screw you, Razor.'

'I'm just saying you've always had a thing for her, have done from day one. Which means you let her get away with a lot.' Shepherd opened his mouth to reply, but Sharpe held up a hand to silence him. 'Don't deny it because I saw the look on your face when she said she was leaving.'

Shepherd shook his head. 'There's no talking to you sometimes.' He sipped his whiskey.

'Because you know I'm right,' said Sharpe.

'She's not leaving because she's unhappy with SOCA we were always just a stepping-stone. She needed to do a few years at the sharp end before going any further up the MI5 ladder.'

'She told you that?'

'It was obvious,' said Shepherd. 'Once a spy, always a spy. We were just a temporary attachment.'

'She used us,' said Sharpe. He raised his gla.s.s to Shepherd. 'She used us all.'

'No one stays in the same job for ever,' said Shepherd. 'You were walking a beat in Strathclyde, then you moved to the Met, now you're with SOCA. I was in the army, then the cops, now I'm...' He grinned. 'Now I'm a civil servant with powers of arrest,' he said. 'Sod it, Razor, let's both go back to the Met.'

Sharpe frowned. 'Now it's my turn to ask, are you serious?'

Shepherd sighed. 'Maybe it's time for a move. I'm not sure that I want to break in a new boss.'

Sharpe leaned over and clinked his gla.s.s against Shepherd's. 'I'm going to hold you to this,' he said.

'Let's see who we get,' said Shepherd.

'I bet it'll be another woman,' said Sharpe. 'Probably black and disabled to boot so that they can tick all the boxes.'

Despite himself, Shepherd smiled. 'You're impossible,' he said.

'No, I'm a cynical b.a.s.t.a.r.d,' said Sharpe. 'It's the job that's impossible.'

The train journey from Paddington to Hereford was almost three hours, which gave Shepherd plenty of time to study the file that Charlotte b.u.t.ton had given him. The TSG had five bases around London. 1TSG, or Area One, was at Paddington Green police station in Harrow Road, the most secure police station in the UK where terrorism suspects were usually held and interrogated before being taken south of the river to Belmarsh prison. The van that had been seen near to the dead paedophile was one of the Mercedes Sprinters based at Paddington Green. The other four TSG bases were at Finchley, Chadwell Heath, Catford and Clapham.

The organisational structure was the same at all of the bases, though the Paddington Green group included trained firearms officers. As b.u.t.ton had said, the units were based around the vans. Each van had a sergeant and seven constables. Three vans formed an operational Serial, headed by an inspector, so a Serial was made up of an inspector, three sergeants and eighteen constables. There were five Serials at each base with senior officers taking the total establishment of the TSG up to 720 across the capital.

a.s.suming that the problem was at a relatively low level, that meant everyone from inspector down at Paddington Green was a suspect, a total of 132 men. Shepherd smiled to himself. And women, of course. The TSG was an equal-opportunity employer.

The TSG as a whole was headed by a commander, with a superintendent below him. Each of the five bases was run by a chief inspector, and under each chief inspector was an inspector in charge of operations and another five inspectors each running a Serial of three teams. The teams' Mercedes Sprinters were specially modified, their windscreens covered with mesh shields.

b.u.t.ton had included the TSG's handbook in the file and Shepherd speed-read it as the train powered towards Hereford. The TSG had three main functions: to secure the capital against terrorism, to react to violent situations that arose anywhere in London, and to help reduce crime by supporting the local police when needed.

Since the al-Qaeda attacks on the Twin Towers in New York, the TSG had been trained to deal with the aftermath of terrorist incidents in London, and the unit was equipped to deal with chemical, biological, radiological and nuclear attacks. So far as day-to-day policing was concerned, TSG officers could be used on patrols and surveillance, and were also available for undercover operations. Each Serial also took it in turns to stand as the Commissioner's Reserve, available to be sent anywhere within the capital to deal with riots, brawls or football hooligans.

In the file there was a printout of the TSG staff at Paddington Green with head-and-shoulders photographs and a brief description of their career to date. Shepherd effortlessly committed the information to memory. His memory had been virtually photographic for as long as he could remember.

The inspector in charge of the Serial that Shepherd was joining was Phillip Smith, a university graduate who was being fast-tracked through the ranks. He had joined straight from Oxford with a degree in Economics and had been promoted to sergeant before he was twenty-five. He had become an inspector at twenty-seven and had already done two years with the TSG. Under Smith there were three sergeants. Michael Keane was one. He had been with the TSG for six years and prior to that had been a traffic cop. Tony Drury had just turned thirty and had moved from CO19 shortly after being promoted. Roy Fogg was in his mid-thirties and in the TSG for five years. He was in charge of the team that Shepherd would be joining. Before the TSG he'd walked a beat in Battersea and had two Commissioner's Commendations for bravery. Fogg's team included Carolyn Castle, a twenty-eight-year-old constable who had recently been transferred to the TSG from a Sapphire team in Croydon, investigating rapes and looking after rape victims. Richard Parry was a West Indian who had worked for a Safer Neighbourhoods Team in Haringey and had a Commissioner's Commendation for bravery: he had disarmed, single-handed, two muggers who had just robbed a pensioner. Nick c.o.ker was twenty-six, had joined the police straight from school and had been with the TSG for two years. He had receding hair, cut short, and a nose that looked as if it had been punched a few more times than was good for it.

According to the file, officers were generally a.s.signed to the TSG for five years, but could stay on for longer if they wanted. Angus Turnbull, the driver of Fogg's van, was one of the long-timers and had been with the TSG for nine years. He was in his late thirties and had the look of a male model with jet-black hair, piercing blue eyes and a boyish smile. Darren Simmons was a relative newcomer and had only been with the unit for nine months. Like Smith, he had been placed on the Met's graduate-entry scheme, which meant he would be fast-tracked to sergeant three years after joining and inspector two years after that. The final member of the team was Barry Kelly, who had spent four years with the British Transport Police, based at King's Cross station, before switching to the Met. Kelly was a redhead with a sprinkling of freckles across his nose.

A page was devoted to the equipment that Shepherd would be expected to use as a member of the TSG. The officers weren't routinely armed, though specially trained firearms officers were based at Paddington Green and authorised to carry Glocks and MP5 carbines. The rank- and-file officers were equipped with the force's standard Monadnock batons and CS sprays but were also allowed to carry and use Tasers. In riot situations they wore fireproof overalls, visored helmets, elbow and shin pads, and held acrylic riot shields. Jimmy Sharpe hadn't been far wrong when he'd referred to them as the heavy mob.

About half an hour before the train was due to arrive at Hereford, Shepherd's mobile rang. It was Major Gannon. 'The funeral's on Friday, in Suss.e.x,' said the Major. 'They'll bury him in the churchyard near where my brother lives in Rotherfield. Two o'clock.'

'I'll be there, boss. Do you want me to spread the word?'