Soft Target by Stephen Leather Page A

against him - as his wife she's entitled to refuse. And if she is prepared to help, we'll need evidence to back it up.'
    'What about Sewell?' asked Shepherd. 'He's not going to be happy about being kept under wraps.'
    'Leave Sewell to me.'
    'What about resources?'
    'Whatever we need. Greater Manchester Police will be footing the bill.'
    And taking the credit if we bring Kerr down, thought Shepherd, ruefully. It was always that way. Hargrove's undercover unit had a roving brief: forces around the country put in a request to the Home Office whenever they needed the unit's services, and Hargrove reported to the Home Secretary.
    The members of the unit never took credit for their successes and never appeared in court. They simply amassed the evidence, put the case together and moved on. Taking credit would mean blowing their cover, and the last thing an undercover policeman needed was publicity.
    Shepherd stood up. 'I'll make a call, tell her I need more info.'
    'And get the deposit. We need it on video.'
    Shepherd walked away, hands in his pockets. He didn't look back, but could feel Hargrove watching him. He cursed under his breath. The Angie Kerr job wasn't going to be as cut and dried as he'd hoped, and every day in Manchester was a day away from his son.
    Rose drove back to the airport and parked the rental car next to his own vehicle. He checked that no one was around, then transferred the MAC 10 to the boot of his car. Customs checks into the UK were as cursory as those into Ireland so he had no qualms about taking it back to London.
    He took the rental back to its drop-off point, then retrieved his own car and drove it to the ferry terminal. He had an hour's wait before boarding. His mobile rang as he was getting out of his car. 'It's good gear you've sold us,' said a voice. A guttural Irish accent. Not the boxer and not the man to whom Rose had spoken on the phone before.
    'I told you so,' said Rose. He headed up the metal stairway to the main deck.
    'And your price was fair. Would you be able to get us more?'
    'Maybe,' said Rose.
    'You know where we are,' said the man.
    'Yes,' said Rose. He cut the connection and walked up on to the deck. He watched as the remaining cars drove on to the ferry. As they left Dublin port and headed across the Irish Sea, he took the Sim card out of the phone and flicked it out over the waves.
    Shepherd made himself a cup of coffee, then slotted the CD into his laptop. The information on the disk was password 7i protected and Shepherd keyed in the eight-digit number that would give him access. It was one of the perks of having a near-photographic memory: he never had to remember a password or phone number.
    The files were split into three sections: MI5, Customs and Excise, and the Greater Manchester Police Drugs Squad. The MI5 file was the largest but contained little intelligence. It consisted mainly of copies of wire-tap authorisations and transcripts of conversations that Charlie Kerr had made over the previous eighteen months, none of which appeared to have had anything to do with drugs. Hargrove had been right: the Security Service had nothing more than a watching brief, and if all they were doing was monitoring his phone traffic then they didn't stand a chance of getting anything on him. A criminal of Kerr's calibre would hardly start organising cocaine shipments by phone, even using pay-as-you-go mobiles. MI5 had access to the Echelon eavesdropping system, a joint venture between the United States, Great Britain and New Zealand, which allowed for the world-wide monitoring of all phone and email conversations.
    It was also equipped with voice-recognition so accurate it could identify a target from among millions of conversations. But listening to Kerr and catching him in the act of setting up a major drugs deal were two different things. The only way to get him would be to use an undercover agent, or persuade a family member or associate to inform on him.
    The Customs and Excise file