But now the man was facing the very real threat of his home being invaded by the Taliban.
Either to recruit his son, or to execute them all.
If they found Sam, they would eradicate the entire family due to their perceived treachery.
If Sam walked away, then Tahir would undoubtedly end up joining their cause. Then Masood.
Even though he wasn’t staring through the scope of his rifle, Sam was still at war.
This time with himself.
Knowing a sleepless night awaited him, Sam gingerly lowered himself onto one of the rickety chairs. As the meagre light offered little visibility, Sam stared into the emptiness of the house, trying to conjure up a battle plan for a war he couldn’t win.
CHAPTER FOUR
‘I’m telling you, mate, it’s piss easy.’
The music thumped loudly out of the speakers overhead and Sam had to lean in to try to make sense of what Theo was saying. Sam had never enjoyed night clubs, the cramped, hot rooms providing a bizarre battleground between the sexes.
It was a strange dance, one Sam had little interest in performing. He had had a few girlfriends through his early twenties, but nothing too serious, there had also been a few midnight fondles in the army barracks with some of the female recruits.
Sam was a good-looking lad, his short, thick brown hair sat atop a head that was framed by a chiseled jaw. His dedication to his burgeoning career as a sniper meant he was in peak physical condition and he knew the black shirt he wore wrapped tightly around his muscular frame.
But he didn’t feel comfortable. He was used to being out in vast, open areas, staring at the world through a scope. Here, he was boxed in, listening to repetitive, mind-numbing music, and watching as men tried too hard to crack onto women who didn’t care.
It was not his idea of a good night.
It was Theo’s.
Stood at the bar, with a big grin showing off his immaculate teeth, Theo Walker scouted the room. They had met on their first tour, with Theo there to shadow the team medic. One of the brightest medical minds their superiors had seen, Theo had already been assigned to a number of platoons as their head medic. Sam had been thrilled when Theo had joined his team in Iraq, and their friendship that had begun a few years earlier had blossomed into a brotherhood.
Sam would walk into hell for Theo.
Which is what he felt like he had done, when the man had claimed that as two twenty-six-year-old men, they should be out on a Saturday night, slaying as many women as possible.
Sam had rolled his eyes, but his loyalty had led him to agree to being Theo’s ineffective wing man.
Theo didn’t need one.
The man had confidence in spades, which Sam knew helped him when dealing with injured comrades. Sat behind his scope, Sam had been trained to pull the trigger and kill a man from a mile away. Theo, on the other hand, dealt with their brothers who were on the other end. Sam had heard horror stories of Theo having to keep a man alive by reaching into his chest and holding his heart together with his bare hands.
Sam was lorded as one of the UK’s best weapons when really, the real heroes were men like Theo.
Those patching the soldiers up so they could continue the fight.
But this evening, Theo was very much off the clock and was casting his eye over the ladies who were filling the dance floor, groups of friends on a night out, ready to let loose after a long week of work. Theo’s confidence was always something Sam both envied and admired. The man was instantly comforting, a trait which served him well as a medic. But combined with his quick wit and beaming smile, Theo was dangerous on a night out.
‘I don’t know,’ Sam finally responded, as Theo motioned to the barman for two more beers. ‘I don’t think I’m going to meet anyone special in a night club.’
Theo chortled.
‘Special? Mate, I’m not asking you to propose tonight. But take a look at the talent. It’s not hard to get them to have a few drinks, a bit of a dance, and then back home for a bit of the other.’
It was Sam’s turn to laugh and he clinked bottles with Theo as he was handed his lukewarm beer.
‘Well, if it’s so easy, why don’t you show me how it’s done?’
Theo’s eyes lit up at the challenge and he took a large, confidence-boosting swig. His back straightened and he rolled his shoulders, as if warming up to go ten rounds with Mike Tyson.
‘Okay, sharpshooter,’ Theo said cockily. ‘You take aim and send me at them.’
‘Them?’ Sam said, his eyebrows raised.
‘I’m feeling lucky.’
‘Okay.’ Sam quickly scanned the dance floor. ‘Ten o’clock.’
Theo turned, zoomed in, and grinned. A couple of girls, dressed in tight, revealing dresses, rocked on the dance floor, doing their level best to retain balance in monstrous shoes. Theo slapped Sam on the shoulder, took another swig of his drink, and then stepped forward into a rhythmic shuffle, his body following the beat as he danced towards his target. One of the girls eyed him awkwardly, but the other, to Sam’s pride, wrapped her arm around Theo’s shoulder and began to grind her body against him. Sam finished his beer, shook his head, and turned back to the bar for another.
‘Bastard,’ he uttered under his breath.
‘Excuse me?’
Sam looked up and his body froze. All the sound drowned out from the dimly lit building. For a man who had been trained to react without hesitation, he had never been knocked so off balance.
Her blue eyes sparkled under the flashing strobe lights.
Her symmetrical face, framed by a neat, blonde bob, regarded him with an effortless beauty.
She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
His heart flipped and Sam quickly realised she was scowling.
‘Sorry?’ he finally stammered, scolding himself.
‘Did you just call me a bastard?’
‘No. Oh God no.’ Sam shook his head. ‘I was talking about my friend. Over there.’
Sam pointed to the dance floor, but Theo had disappeared. Either he was trapped within the mass of wriggling bodies or he had got luckier than even he thought.
‘Great.’ The woman forced a smile and turned back to the bar. Sam knew he wasn’t as smooth as Theo, but he still had manners.
‘I’m Sam.’ He offered his hand. The woman smiled at the gesture, took it, and looked at him.
‘I’m Lucy.’
‘Lovely to meet you, Lucy.’ He looked around. ‘Are you here alone?’
‘Yup, I’m the type of girl who goes to night clubs alone to meet weird guys at the bar.’ She winked at him. ‘I’m here with some friends, but a creepy group of guys kept trying to dance with us, so I tagged out.’
‘Ah. Fair enough.’ Sam gestured for another beer to the barman. ‘At the risk of being creepy, can I get you a drink?’
Lucy nodded, and gave her order. After a few moments, he returned with a garish looking drink. Sam, through fear of looking cheap, refused to gawp at the ridiculous price of it. As the barman handed back his change, Lucy smiled warmly at him. He even caught her glimpsing at his arms, which pressed tightly against the sleeves of his shirt.
Was she interested?
She leaned in, her lips a few inches from his ear, and he felt her cool breath on his neck.
‘Why is your friend a bastard?’ she asked, sipping her drink.
‘I told him you can’t meet people in places like this and he instantly cracked onto some girl and it worked,’ Sam half yelled. ‘He does it all the time.’
At that moment, two girls pushed their way through the dance floor, one of them in floods of tears. Behind them, a group of guys laughed childishly, one of them pathetically making humping actions towards them.
Drunken louts.
Lucy sighed and Sam realised it was her friends, and as they headed towards the door, so did his hopes of having an enjoyable time. With one large tip of her head, she knocked back the expensive drink and turned to Sam, her ey
es wide and full of hope.
‘You really don’t think you can meet people in places like this?’
The question caught Sam off guard, but the look in her eyes kept him in place.
A confidence struck him like a hard slap, and he stepped forward, cupped one hand behind her ear and pressed his lips against hers. She pushed back, their lips locking together and electricity between shaking both their worlds.
Sam gently pulled away, his eyes closed and when they opened, he saw a smile creep across her face.
It was something special.
This was something special.
Sam pulled out his mobile phone, navigated to his contacts, and handed it to her. She tapped her number into his phone and, as if to put his heart at ease, she sent herself a missed call, pulling out her phone to prove it was the right number.
She leant in again, gave him one more peck on the lips, and with a sigh of regret, Lucy headed towards the door in search of her distressed friends. Sam stood for what felt like an eternity, watching her petit frame weave through the crowd and disappear into the stairwell and he took a sip of his beer, his hand shaking.
He had pulled the trigger on a number of targets, a steady hand every time.
But this was something else.
This felt life changing.
Right on cue, the chirpy, intoxicated voice of Theo broke his train of thought.
‘Woooo. She was damn fine.’ Sam turned to his friend, who had clearly partaken in some rounds of shots and was woozily swaying. ‘Who was that?’
Sam slid himself under Theo’s arm and propped him up, smiling at his friend who looked like he could fall at any minute. As they headed towards the crowded bar once more, Sam glanced over his shoulder towards the door, his heart aching to see her once more.
Lucy.
‘Remember how you said I wouldn’t find someone to propose to?’ Sam said, as he and Theo ventured into the thirsty crowd, ready to celebrate.
Farhad smiled warmly at Sam as he recounted the moment he’d met Lucy. The doctor had asked him about his life at home and Sam could feel his own survival instinct growing as he thought back to that moment.
His life had changed that day.
For so long, Sam had always been his only priority. When his father passed away, Sam threw himself into being a soldier, wanting to prove himself to be the hero his father was. As he developed into one of the deadliest snipers the UK had ever seen, his need for self-betterment drove him forward.
He fought so he could fight better.
But ever since Lucy had come into his life, Sam had something else to fight for.
Something to come home for.
While out in the rough, hot terrain of the African deserts, he knew what was keeping him alive. Every life he ended and every bullet he dodged was all so he could return to Lucy. To the wonderful home they’d created and the wonderful life they shared. Now, stood in a derelict village in the middle of nowhere, unarmed, severely wounded, and with the very real threat of death hanging over him like a maxed out credit card, Sam yearned to return home more than ever.
‘You lucky man,’ Farhad said as he squatted down in the baking sun, reaching out a sweaty palm and wrapping it around the root of the turnip that had sprouted in his vegetable patch. The vegetable was slightly off colour but was of decent size. Sam held out the basket he had insisted on holding. Despite his feeble condition and Farhad’s demands of rest, Sam was determined to help.
After watching the man deal with his rebellious teenage son and face the life that fate had cruelly imposed on him, Sam wanted to show his gratitude.
Farhad had saved his life.
Whatever Sam could do to help him, to try to save Tahir, Sam would.
But he needed proper medical treatment and the backing of the British Military to do it.
Farhad continued, ‘When I met Zainab, I knew I would be with her forever.’ A pained look flashed across his face. ‘When my time comes, I will see her again. She waits for me.’
‘You’re a good man, Farhad,’ Sam said firmly. ‘I can’t tell you how grateful I am.’
Farhad shook his head and took the basket from Sam.
‘It was the right thing to do. Tomorrow there is a bus and we go to the market town. Usually there are soldiers. British. US. Not sure. But we will get you there.’ Farhad smirked. ‘And maybe I sell some vegetables, eh?’
Sam smiled at the attempted humour and then looked across towards the well. Masood was kicking a tatty football against the old, rotten bricks, pretending he was a famous footballer and his existence wasn’t as pain stricken as it appeared.
It was the childish ability to melt into another reality that Sam envied and he realised then, watching the young boy that he had to get back to Lucy.
To marry her.
To start a family with her.
Somewhere in the distance, a rising cry of panic echoed, and Sam snapped his head back towards the main road on the other side of Farhad’s home. Farhad was already marching with a purpose, squinting into the bright horizon line.
The fear was palpable, the panicked cries echoing from the other houses that made up the village.
In the distance, a cloud of smoke was gradually sliding towards them, a thick, black entity at the front of it.
A truck.
Farhad’s eyes widened with terror and he dropped the basket of vegetable.
‘Farhad?’ Sam called out with concern, hobbling forward.
‘Masood!’ Farhad yelled abruptly. ‘Here! Now!’
‘Farhad, what is it?’
‘It is them. They come for you.’
‘What?’ Sam looked towards the horizon once more, the dust rising up like a sandstorm. They were roughly ten minutes out, but the vast wasteland provided a clear view.
‘Tahir threatened to tell them you here.’ Farhad’s hands were shaking as he lifted his son and headed towards the house. ‘He thinks he will be a hero.’
‘Farhad, you need to let them take me,’ Sam demanded. ‘This is not your fight.’
‘You do not understand.’ They barged into the house, Farhad racing towards the kitchen. Massod had begun to cry. ‘If they find you here, they kill us all. Do you understand?’
Sam gritted his teeth and nodded.
‘Yes.’
Farhad pulled back the wall panel and gestured for Sam to enter. With a deep breath, Sam reluctantly stepped into the space between the walls, shuffling down so he could peer through the slight gap in the bricks to the road outside. The car was approaching rapidly.
Farhad placed Masood down and then knelt before him.
‘You and Sam will play hide and seek. Okay?’ Farhad spoke with broken words, tears streaming down his face. ‘Remember, Papa loves you very much.’
‘I love you, Papa.’
Farhad planted a kiss on Masood’s forehead and then clutched him tightly. Sam felt his eyes water, the pain of watching Farhad fear for his family trumped any he felt through his injuries. Farhad stood, gave Sam a trusting look and then slid the wall panel back.
Sam heard the man shunt the cabinet back in place, blocking them in and the world went dark except for the slither of light that crept through the peep hole. As Sam pressed himself back against the dark walls, he stared out into the blazing hot road ahead.
In the darkness, he felt the trembling fingers of Massod wrap around his hand and squeeze.
Sam ignored the pain.
The boy was terrified, and Sam would keep him safe.
As they stood in the darkness, hidden in the heat, Sam watched as the truck came into view, the dust rising ominously behind it like a storm cloud.
CHAPTER FIVE
The unrelenting heat pounded the track that lead from the main street to Farhad’s run-down house. It was one he had walked many times, usually with a box full of passable vegetation and the hope that he would sell enough to put food on the table and keep his children safe.
The same path he walked with his sons m
ost mornings, leading them towards the abandoned hall which had been set up as a makeshift school. Most mornings, Tahir would instigate an argument, his extremist views becoming stronger by the day.
Masood would skip along innocently, investigating every stone, scuttering after every shadow.
Many times, Farhad had raced down this pathway to one of the neighbouring homes, his medical expertise needed in a place so bereft of any health care.
This wasn’t a place that his God had forgotten.
It was a place he never knew existed.
But now, as he calmly crunched on the dry, dead ground of the pathway, he felt his heartbreaking.
Not for the inevitable beating he was about to receive.
Not because his town, where his father had gracefully grown old, was being crushed under the oppressive boot of the Taliban.
Not even for the memory of walking arm in arm with his darling Zainab, before she was taken ill.
His heart was breaking for what he saw on the truck.
The large, roofless vehicle sped down the path towards him, dust and debris spinning from the thick, rubber tires. Seven people adorned the vehicle, with two of them sat in the front, their heads covered with scarves and sunglasses doing their best against the blazing sun. On the back of the vehicle, four men sat opposite each other, their arms holding onto the metal frame.
Farhad could see the assault rifles.
Behind them, sat on the back of the truck, with a furious scowl on his face, was his son.
Tahir.
The truck slowed, the engine spluttering like a forty-a-day smoker. Beyond the vehicle, Farhad could see the terrified locals daring to watch.
Farhad kept his eyes locked on his son as the vehicle came to a stop, the pain of his son’s association with the group was enough to draw a tear. Tahir returned the look for a few moments, clearly trying to save face in front of his new, older friends, but soon had to turn away.
Nothing scared a boy like the wrath of his father.
But there would be no wrath from Farhad. Just open arms and a genuine hope it was not too late for his boy.
The Right Reason Page 3
