by Andy McNab
Chapter Sixty-four
‘FOLLOWING AN INTELLIGENCE BREAKTHROUGH WHICH SUGGESTS THAT Martyn is being held in a mosque, the colonel has decided that every mosque within a one-hundred-kilometre range of this base is to be cleared and searched tomorrow morning,’ announced the boss.‘So what will we do after lunch?’ asked Jamie Dermott.Gordon Weeks said: ‘It is important to clear as many mosques simultaneously as possible and clearly this base doesn’t have the manpower. So troops from other bases will be taking part and other companies are being flown in to help.’‘How many are we doing?’ asked Angus.‘There are three mosques in the town by the base and each platoon will clear one. You will, of course, behave respectfully and politely. To you it may feel like any building to be searched: to a Moslem a mosque is a very holy place.’Dave involuntarily glanced at Mal. He was staring at the ground, his face red.‘Don’t they have to leave their shoes outside? Well, I’m not taking my fucking boots off,’ said Angus.‘You can keep your boots on,’ said Dave, rolling his eyes.The boss continued: ‘There is to be no shouting or swearing in the mosque. And, although we will have to enter with our weapons, we must avoid firing them unnecessarily. It’s a green entry so strictly, strictly no grenades. Plus total respect for any religious objects like the Quran, please.’‘On training they told us that the Taliban store weapons in mosques,’ said Bacon. ‘Where’s their respect, then?’‘They not only store weapons but they frequently fire from mosques. But that’s no reason for us to do the same.’‘So how can Martyn Robertson be held in a mosque if it’s a public place?’ asked O’Sullivan.‘Good question. Either the Taliban has to ensure the silence of an entire community, which is possible. Or he’ll be kept in a cupboard, room or underground area around the mosque. In short, we don’t know.’‘Will there be many people inside? Saying prayers and things?’ asked Binman.‘The operation has been deliberately timed to avoid the five Moslem prayer times. But there may well be people inside the mosque and we will have to indicate to them, very politely, that they should step aside while we search the place.’‘Right, lads,’ said Dave. ‘We’ll show you a map of the town and the mosque so you all know what you’re doing. Concentrate. Stay alert. Use your eyes and your heads. We’re undermanned, we all need each other and we’re doing a vital job tomorrow. We’re going to try to find Martyn alive. I don’t have to tell you what happens to him if we fuck up.’As they approached the town the next day they saw with relief that the place was busy. It was market day. The narrow streets throbbed with people, cattle and goats. The smell of sewage met the smell of spice. Women, their faces covered, their bags bulging, stepped around steaming animal dung. Stalls groaned beneath the weight of their produce, sellers shouted for buyers, bright fabrics were draped psychedelically on top of one another.To the soldiers the bustle could only mean one thing: no Taliban.1 Platoon split from the rest of the convoy to go around the outskirts of the town. The men would be dropped at a point nearest their allocated mosque and had been told to make their way towards it rapidly.Everything went according to plan at first. No one tried to stop them and the locals ignored the presence of armed soldiers in their midst.‘So . . . er . . . where is the mosque?’ asked Mal, who was point man.‘What do you mean?’ demanded Sol.‘Well, according to the map, it’s here,’ said the boss.‘Where?’They were lingering in a side alley now. Dave, at the rear, said: ‘Get moving, we’re supposed to take the place by surprise.’‘Get moving where?’ asked Mal. ‘I don’t see a mosque.’Everyone looked around them.‘Shit, shit, shit,’ said Dave. ‘They could have Martyn gagged, bound and out by now. Half the town knows we’re here.’‘Can’t we ask the way to the mosque?’ suggested Bacon.‘How’s your Pashtu then, Streaky?’ Finn said.The boss, staring at the map, shook his head: ‘I don’t understand. This is supposed to be the right place . . .’‘What’s the problem? This is the fucking mosque, look!’ Binman was pointing to a tannoy above the door of the low, squat building on their right.Mal took a step back to stare at it.‘That’s never a mosque! In England mosques don’t look like this. No one would go if they did.’‘It’s just an ordinary house . . .’ said Finn.Sol said: ‘Ordinary houses don’t have loudspeakers to call people to prayer. In you go, Mal.’‘No minaret, no arches, nothing written on the outside, nothing,’ muttered Mal mutinously. ‘How was I to know?’‘In you go, mate,’ said Sol.Mal paused.‘Go on!’ roared Dave from the back.Angus finally pushed in front of him and the others followed.Dave asked Mal, ‘What’s the problem?’‘I haven’t washed my hands and face.’‘What?’‘I didn’t think I cared. But we’re supposed to wash before praying. I don’t usually go in a mosque without . . .’‘Listen, mate,’ said Dave, ‘you can stay outside with 2 Section if you like. I’m sorry, I should have thought.’‘Fuck that,’ said Mal, and he stepped into the mosque.Inside it was almost dark. After a few moments their eyes began to adjust. As the interior materialized they quickly spread out. There were just a few men, kneeling on the mats provided, who looked up in shock at them. Light filtered in through small, high windows. There were arches overhead and at the back some cupboards and a couple of rooms. Without saying a word, the soldiers quickly and quietly searched the place.An old man came up to remonstrate. He was holding a book, bound in threadbare fabric which looked very old. Angus did not see the man and, after searching a cupboard, swung round to find him there. As he turned, his day sack knocked the book out of the man’s hand. It lay sprawling, face up, on the matting. The man stared at the book as though it was alight, and then he looked into Angus’s face and shouted in Pashtu.‘Really, McCall. Can’t you be a bit more careful?’ snapped the boss.Angus turned red and looked at the old man with embarrassment. ‘Sorry, mate, it was a mistake,’ he said.The man continued to shout.‘He’s saying: you big, clumsy twat,’ said Binman as he passed.‘Sounds like my dad,’ muttered Angus.He bent to pick up the book but the man shouted louder.Angus paused, unsure what to do.Mal was watching.‘He’s saying get your filthy, infidel hands off the Holy Book.’Angus stood up again and the man picked up the book himself with the greatest reverence and started to dust it down, apparently apologizing to it.‘I’ve fucking had enough of this,’ said Angus. He went to the door but bumped into a man carrying a sack on his way in. The man stopped and stared at Angus in horror.‘Christ, everyone’s looking at me like I’m fucking Dracula today!’The man put down the sack and backed out of the door.‘It’s yer fangs,’ said Finn.Angus stepped out after the man to where the other two sections of the platoon were covering. The man stared at the soldiers as though seeing them for the first time. He turned and ran.The soldiers were all outside the mosque now. Dave looked at Angus for an explanation.‘Saw me and scarpered,’ said Angus.‘We should have stopped him. I bet he didn’t just do that because you’re ugly.’But by now Finn was looking in the sack.‘Fucking hell!’The men crowded round.‘Opium?’‘Weed?’‘There are two . . . Well, they’re round and they look like . . .’He reached into the sack.‘Careful,’ said Dave. ‘Be very, very careful.’Finn pulled out a mortar round. The men instinctively backed away.Dave took the bag gingerly and pulled out the other round. It was partially wrapped in brown paper but it was clearly the twin of the first and attached to it were battery and wire.‘So that was going to be a roadside bomb for us,’ said Boss Weeks. ‘Nice of him to hand it over.’‘I wish you’d told us to stop that geezer,’ Dave said. ‘We’ll never catch him now.’Finn’s voice was higher than usual.‘I wish I wasn’t standing here holding this fucking thing.’‘We’ll put them down very, very gently . . .’‘What, here?’‘No!’ Sol pointed down the alleyway. ‘Over there where it’s a bit wider. It’ll be easier for us to cover.’Finn and Dave carried their bombs carefully, their tread slow, their bodies stiff. The boss walked ahead.‘No, down here, it gets wider still.’Finn looked miserable.‘Well, why not walk all the way back to the fucking base with them and see if they blow up on the way?’‘Just ten more metres,’ coaxed Sol.They set the mortar rounds down in the dusty alleyway and the boss radioed for someone to dea
l with them.The men waited.‘Well, this is going to help us find Martyn, innit?’ they said. ‘Sitting here in a fucking alleyway.’After three hours EOD arrived to dismantle the mortars.‘They would have been enough to see off a lot of men,’ the bomb disposal expert said cheerfully. ‘Shame you let the bastard walk away.’Back at Sin City it emerged that today’s operation had annoyed the locals in some parts of the area. Troops had been in contact, others had been stoned by angry crowds. In a few mosques, caches of weapons had been found. But there was still no sign of Martyn.
Chapter Sixty-five
SIN CITY WAS TURNING INTO A MEDIA CIRCUS. A PLANE-LOAD OF journalists was to be flown in so they could record their pieces to camera from the FOB.The OC sat in the cookhouse running his hands through his hair.‘As if we haven’t anything better to do! We’re expected to spend our time protecting journalists who like putting on body armour for the camera. Apparently one has already asked us if we can lob a few grenades in the background. Another wants us to go linear across a poppy field so they can film us from the air with him in the middle position. And a third has put in a request for everyone at the base to go to their positions and fire as though we’re under attack. But only when there’s no enemy around.’‘How is that going to find Martyn?’ roared the men. ‘We’re running out of time!’‘Can’t we say no, sir?’ asked Dave. ‘On the grounds that we’re soldiers and not film extras?’The OC rolled his eyes.‘The government thinks this crisis is good for the war. The threat to Martyn’s life is mobilizing British public opinion. As far as they’re concerned, the more journalists the better.’At that moment Martyn’s face appeared on the TV screen and the noisy cookhouse was instantly silent. The anchorman explained that the hostage still had not been located and his kidnappers were still refusing to negotiate. There was one week to go until his execution and an appeal for his release had been made by a close friend and colleague.A cheer went up in the room when Emily appeared.‘Martyn is a man who was working in Afghanistan because of his interest in and compassion for the Afghan people. He holds them in the highest regard and his work was designed to help their economy and improve their standard of living. I therefore appeal to his kidnappers to recognize him as a friend and supporter and to treat him as an honoured guest.’‘If Martyn sees Emily,’ said Angus, ‘he’ll beg the Taliban to finish him off.’Finn said: ‘The Sex Grenade’s talking bollocks. Martyn didn’t give a shit about the Afghan people. He was paid a fucking fortune and he’s got shitloads of ex-wives to support. That’s why he was here.’‘Think Emily’s appeal will make any difference, sir?’ asked the commander of 2 Platoon.The OC pulled a face.‘We have just seven days and I’m not sure the diplomats can achieve anything in that time.’‘But we can!’ said the men. ‘We could search a lot of houses in seven days! Let’s get out there and fight!’The OC shook his head helplessly.‘I’m powerless to authorize any house searches. Or fights. The colonel’s here and he’s working with the Foreign Office. It’s right over our heads, boys.’But the journalists’ visit was abruptly cancelled. Suddenly there were rumours that intelligence had located Martyn. The company would go operational as soon as the SAS arrived.Although the OC would not deny or confirm the rumours, commanders quietly told their men to prepare for a major operation. But as the deadline for Martyn’s release approached, nothing happened.The men waited. Much of their talk was about Martyn but many of their thoughts were about home. One month left here. Some people had barely dared allow themselves to think about their loved ones before now. Involuntarily, as they stood over the green bowls washing in an inch of water, the possibility of a warm bath began to occur to them. Or a long shower. When they sat in the cookhouse with mugs of tea they thought about pub gardens and cold beer.Jamie phoned Agnieszka.‘Just a few more weeks! A few more weeks!’ he said.‘That wonderful.’ Her voice was flat. She was trying to summon enthusiasm but she was not successful. When Jamie had called her after a week at Jackpot she had been warm and loving. But since then he had felt her detaching again and going into some cold, quiet orbit of her own. Each call ended with a sense that she was further away.‘I don’t get it,’ Jamie told Dave. ‘Is there some other bloke? Is it that I mean less and less the longer I’m away? Or is she sort of . . . depressed?’‘One more month,’ Dave reminded him. ‘Then you can put everything right again.’‘Yeah,’ said Jamie. The mail had arrived and there had been nothing from Agnieszka.Dave saw Mal also looking miserable after the blueys were handed out.‘One more month,’ he said. ‘Then you can get back to Wythenshawe and sort things out.’Mal shook his head.‘Nah, you were right, Sarge. My family wants me to keep away. They say I’ll only make things worse. So I s’pose I’ll stay in barracks and they’ll come down to see me.’‘It’s not nice to feel you can’t go home,’ said Dave. He wasn’t sure Mal was capable of staying away and keeping out of a fight.‘What’s the matter with everyone?’ he asked Sol. ‘We’ve got one month to go and no one’s getting excited.’‘It’s because of Martyn. And it’s because some people remember that home isn’t always so nice when you get there.’Dave was surprised. ‘You don’t feel that way, Sol, do you?’‘Listen, I can’t wait to see Adi and the kids. I just can’t wait. But there’s always this strange period when I first get back. I sort of don’t know what to do with myself. Because Adi’s so used to doing everything and she doesn’t know how to make room for me. Know what I mean?’‘Yeah. Jenny’s always different when I get back. I mean, she’s always changed the way we do things and she expects me just to know it.’Sol looked worried.‘We’ve waited and waited to see each other. But then I get there and I just have to keep out of Adi’s way so I don’t go upsetting her.’‘Everything’s going to be different in our house anyway because of the new baby.’‘So have you agreed on a name?’ asked Sol cautiously. ‘Adi said it would probably be Lisa.’‘Lisa. Oh, no. Don’t say Jen’s back to that one.’‘It’s a nice name.’‘It’s the name of an auntie who died or something. And I don’t like it. I hope she hasn’t registered the baby as Lisa.’ Going away for six months relieved you of a lot of responsibility. And that meant you sacrificed some of your rights. But Dave thought that helping to decide your baby’s name shouldn’t be one of them.‘What do you want to call her, then?’ asked Sol.‘One of the old-fashioned names like Ruby or Sophie. I used to like Emily but I’ve gone off that . . .’‘What does Jenny say?’‘She says: no way.’In the cookhouse, over a brew, in the back of the wagons, in the toilets and around the cots, voices could be heard at any time: ‘What the fuck is happening? Where are the fucking Jedi, if that’s what we’re waiting for? When is this operation?’With three days to go until the deadline, tension became acute. Action in the ops room was frantic. But action in the ops room never seemed to translate into action on the ground. Finally, a Chinook arrived.About twelve men ambled out of it, tin teapots hanging from their Bergens. They wore flipflops, shorts and tasteless shirts.‘Yes!’ said Angus, punching the air. ‘It’s them!’‘Looks like the cream of the British Army, teapots at the ready,’ said Jamie.‘And just when I was thinking of lengthening my odds again,’ Finn said.Dave called 1 Platoon into the Cowshed for prayers.‘We’ve been very patient,’ the boss told them. ‘At last, this is what we’ve been waiting for. We’re going to rescue Martyn.’He explained that they would be leaving the base early tomorrow. The SAS would be in the wagons with them, dressed in camouflage to look like the rest of the lads. R Company would help them take the site and the SAS would find the hostage.‘Right. Synchronize watches. In one minute it will be—’The lads looked at each other.‘Er, sir,’ said Dave. ‘You’ve forgotten the prayers.’The boss looked back at him and blinked.‘That’s it. That’s all there is.’‘But . . . where we are going?’ asked Dave.The Cowshed was suddenly still. No one moved a muscle.‘I don’t know. We haven’t been told.’‘Well, is it a very large compound? Is there any kind of internal map . . .?’The boss shrugged.‘I don’t know. It could be the size of Buckingham Palace or it could be a shepherd’s hut.’There was a silence. Dave l
ooked at the lads and every face stared back at him.‘Just take all the weapons you can carry,’ he said. ‘In case it’s Buckingham Palace.’The boss coughed. ‘One more thing. It has been very hard for the British to retain this operation. The Americans wanted to take it over and run it in their own way with their own forces. We don’t agree with their approach and feel it could be detrimental to our relationship with the Afghans. So we’re doing it, and we’re doing it our way with, apart from the Regiment, only the men we happen to have here on the ground: bussing in reinforcements is the kind of manoeuvre that might alarm the kidnappers. I need hardly tell you, then, that if things go wrong there will be a lot of international mud-slinging. Not just this company’s reputation but the reputation of the British Army is at stake.’1 Platoon agreed in the cookhouse afterwards that they didn’t care about the reputation of the company or the British Army. They just wanted to find Martyn.As before any major operation, everyone wanted to use the phone. Twice that evening it was double-booked and fights broke out. Jamie, who had been waiting patiently for his turn, saw that it was not going to come. He walked briskly around the perimeter a few times, trying to walk his worries about Agnieszka out of his system. He faced battle fearlessly. Only his wife could induce this sense of panic.Finally he went back to his cot. Binns and Bacon were there, just leaving for the cookhouse.‘Hey, Jamie, we forgot to finish your story. About the frog!’ They did a few frog impressions to remind him.‘Ribbit, ribbit!’‘Yeah,’ said Jamie, without smiling. ‘I know. I was never in the mood.’‘Let’s finish it now,’ they said.Jamie shook his head.‘No point. I’ll be seeing Luke in a few more weeks.’He was delving in his day sack for something.Binns and Streaky shrugged helplessly at each other.‘Woman trouble,’ muttered Streaky as they left. As soon as they were gone, Jamie pulled out the cellphone Agnieszka had given him. He had to communicate with her somehow. He had to tell her how much he loved her. And to make sure she knew that, however bad she was feeling, he would soon be there for her.He switched it on, glancing constantly towards the door as it found the signal. He was about to start his message when the phone told him he had a message waiting. This surprised him. Agnieszka didn’t want him to use this mobile any more for some reason, so it was strange that she had used it herself.He opened the message.It said: ‘I love another man now.’He read it again.It still said: ‘I love another man now.’He read it again and then again. The message was written in ice. It was freezing his hand. It was freezing his body. It was freezing his heart. If someone walked in he knew that he would be powerless to switch off the phone and to hide it. Afterwards he found the phone in the day sack. But he could not remember putting it away.I love another man now.
