Spider Shepherd 10 - True Colours

by Leather, Stephen

  ‘He didn’t do it, Lex,’ said Shepherd quietly.

  ‘Bullshit.’

  Shepherd turned back to Khan. ‘But you were there, outside the al-Qaeda house in Pakistan? It was you I saw. Outside the house?’

  Khan nodded. ‘Yes, I was there.’

  ‘We know he was there, we saw the bugger,’ said Shortt. ‘And we saw him kill Captain Todd.’

  ‘And the three Paras!’ shouted Harper. ‘Let’s not forget the three lads he shot in the back.’

  ‘Take a breath, Lex,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘What the hell is wrong with you?’ yelled Harper, waving his gun over his head. ‘We brought him out here to slot him, let’s just get on with it.’

  Shepherd looked over at Khan again. He forced a smile. ‘Tell him,’ he said. ‘Tell him what happened the night that Captain Todd was killed.’

  AFGHANISTAN, 2002

  For a week Ahmad Khan remained at home, working in the fields and regaining his strength, and then he returned Lailuna to the care of his sister. When she realised that he was going away again, Lailuna wailed as if her heart would break, but he promised her, ‘This is the last time I shall leave you behind. Next time we go together, I swear to you.’

  He walked away without looking back, knowing that the desolate look on her face would weaken his resolve. He made contact with Joshua using one of the dead drops he had set up on his instructions, and the following night, waiting as arranged in the shadows at the side of a road outside Jalalabad, he was picked up by an American patrol and taken to a meeting with Joshua at the American FOB. ‘You’re not exactly flavour of the month with the British, just now,’ Joshua said as Khan was brought into the room where he was waiting. ‘They think you deliberately led their men into a trap.’

  By way of answer, Khan simply removed his shirt and turned slowly around, allowing Joshua to see the fresh scars that covered his back and torso. Joshua listened intently as Khan told him the story. ‘So, do the Taliban still trust you?’

  ‘Two of the leaders don’t,’ Khan said. ‘My time is definitely running out. It is time for you to do as you promised and give me and my daughter a new life in the West.’

  ‘I will,’ said Joshua. ‘But before I do, I need you to carry out one more task for me. You know the money house you talked about across the Pakistani border? We have intelligence suggesting that some al-Qaeda operatives are based there and are using it as a source of funds and weapons. We’ve identified the broad area where it’s sited but we have not been able to locate it precisely. I need you to locate it, penetrate it and identify who’s using it.’

  ‘And then? What will you do?’

  ‘And then we’ll deal with it, one way or another.’

  ‘You will destroy it?’

  ‘That’s a decision that will be taken at a higher pay grade than mine.’

  Khan stroked his beard thoughtfully. ‘I need a reason to go there, I can’t just turn up and tell them I happened to be passing. They’re not stupid.’

  ‘I’ve thought of that.’ Joshua smiled. ‘We’re going to put a price on your head, a large reward for your capture alive. That’ll strengthen your credibility with the Taliban and also give you a powerful reason to cross the border into the tribal areas until the heat has died down.’

  ‘Even so, why would the Taliban want me to go to the money house?’

  ‘Because we’re going to make a large cash payment to the headman of your village to buy his loyalty. You’re going to relieve him of it on behalf of the Taliban and then volunteer to deliver it to the money house.’

  Khan nodded thoughtfully. ‘And if someone captures me before I cross the border and hands me over to claim the reward you’re offering?’

  ‘Then you’ll have got your wish because you’ll be in our hands and on your way out of Afghanistan.’

  ‘I’ll do it,’ Khan said, ‘as I’m sure you knew I would, but Lailuna must be in a place of safety before I do.’

  ‘Agreed,’ Joshua said. ‘Bring her to the site of the dead drop at dawn tomorrow. I’ll have soldiers there, including a woman, to pick up your daughter. She’ll be waiting for you at Bagram when you return.’

  ‘And if I do not return?’

  ‘Then you have my word that she will be taken to my country and we will find a good American family to give her a home.’ He paused. ‘The drop of money to your village headman will take place at noon tomorrow and you would be well advised to be out of the area and on your way to the border by nightfall, because word will already be spreading about the price we’ve put on your head.’

  Khan nodded. ‘I shall leave before the sun goes down,’ he said.

  ‘There’s one other thing,’ said Joshua. He held out what looked like a regular 5.45 round for Khan’s AK-74. ‘This is an HOTB – a Hostiles Ordnance Tracking Beacon,’ he said. ‘We use them to track and intercept enemy supplies – we just need to insert one of these into a shipment and then we can ambush it somewhere along the line, at a time and place of our choosing. I need you to have this with you at all times. We’ll have an AWAC in the air over the area where you’re heading. The HOTB sends out a constant pulse which the AWAC can track. When it stops pulsing, we’ll know that you’ve reached the money house and the point where the signal stops will give us the precise coordinates. There are two ways to stop it. You can fire it in your rifle; put it in your magazine, pull the trigger and it’ll seem like a misfire – there’s a .22 cap in the base which will go off and destroy the inner workings. A misfire will be perfectly plausible, most Taliban ammunition is made in Peshawar and it’s notoriously unreliable. But you can also silence it by crushing it between a couple of rocks.’

  ‘So when it is silenced, you’ll launch the attack?’

  ‘I’m not sure about the timing. But by killing the signal we will know the exact location of the house. When you silence the HOTB we’ll send in surveillance drones to check out the area and we’ll then deal with the target.’

  ‘A drone, perhaps?’ said Khan.

  Joshua shrugged. ‘Given the sensitivity of relations with Pakistan, the attack is likely to be by special forces on the ground, and probably British ones at that, rather than by bombs or missiles. The attack, if it does come, will probably be at night and you would be wise not to be in the immediate vicinity of the building at the time.’

  Khan was dropped off close to his village later that night and woke Lailuna well before dawn. They slipped out of the still-sleeping village and made their way to the dead drop. Khan told her only that she was going to meet an American woman who would look after her for him, and when he came back, they would be going on the long journey together that he had promised her. As he heard the noise of the approaching American armoured vehicle, driving without lights, he hugged Lailuna, but he was dry eyed and showing a confidence he did not feel as he entrusted her to a young blond woman in army fatigues. While her comrades formed a defensive perimeter around them, she greeted Khan, ruffled Lailuna’s hair and gave her a candy bar.

  Khan stood watching as they drove away, Lailuna’s pale face and uncertain smile peering out at him until she disappeared from sight. He returned to his village and at once went to the house of the village headman, a grey-bearded elder with a face ravaged by smallpox scars. ‘I know the Americans are bringing money to the village at noon today,’ Khan said. ‘If the Taliban hear of it – and we both know they will – they will take all of it. But here is what I suggest. You will give me half the money the Americans bring, which I will deliver to the Taliban, but I – and you, when you are asked, as you surely will be – will tell them that it is the whole of the money that was given to you. You will hide the rest and when you judge it is safe, you will use it to ease the burdens of our friends and families and bring a little prosperity to our village. After today, you will not see me again for a long time, if ever. The faranji – the British – have put a price on my head and I must cross the border to escape them.’

  The headman took Khan’s
hands in his, thanked him and said, ‘May you travel safely.’

  ‘And may you not be tired,’ Khan said, returning the traditional greeting.

  Exactly at noon that day, there was the clatter of helicopter rotors overhead as a Blackhawk swooped in, bristling with guns and missiles, and hovered above the heart of the village, churning up a storm of dust and leaves. A few minutes later the American military convoy rumbled into the village.

  While troops fanned out around them, M16s at the ready, two soldiers, each carrying a sack, ran into the headman’s house. Moments later, they emerged empty handed, they and the troops jumped back into the vehicles and the convoy moved off, with the Blackhawk still flying top cover above it.

  Khan had already summoned Ghulam from the neighbouring village and they made their way to the headman’s house as soon as the convoy had disappeared. For the benefit of any watching villagers, Khan unslung his AK-74 and covered the headman as he appeared at the door. There were still two sacks in the middle of the room, but Khan noted with satisfaction that they were now considerably less bulky than when they had been delivered. The headman made token protests, raising his voice in lamentations as Khan and Ghulam strode away, each with a sack over their shoulder. None of the other villagers tried to intercept them; they knew better than to cross the Taliban.

  With Ghulam at his side, Khan made his way out of the village and took the narrow, twisting paths through the mountains. After sunset that night, they reached the safe house, one of several that Fahad constantly moved between. It could have been any farmer or goatherd’s house, had it not been for the satellite dish hidden among a copse of larch and pine trees a hundred yards away. Greeted with a faint smile by Fahad and a scowl from Piruz, Khan produced the money at once and told his story. ‘The British have put a price on my head,’ he said, ‘for the deaths of their soldiers.’

  ‘I had already heard so,’ Fahad said, nodding towards the satellite phone that lay on the table.

  ‘With your permission,’ Khan said, ‘I will cross the border and live among our brothers in the tribal lands until the faranji find other things to occupy their minds.’

  ‘Granted,’ Fahad said. ‘When will you leave?’

  ‘Tonight. The lure of the reward may be too much for some poor farmer to resist. Shall I deliver these dollars to the money house across the border, where it will be safe from the faranji? Ghulam will go with me for added protection.’

  Fahad thought for a long moment before he replied. ‘Perhaps that would be wise,’ he said. ‘You can relieve my men who are guarding it and send them back to rejoin the fight here, but I will send Piruz and another fighter with you, for poor farmers are not the only ones who may find such sums of money hard to resist.’

  Khan inclined his head. ‘As you wish.’

  The four men left within the hour, travelling light with just their weapons and ammunition, a water bottle and a pouch at their waist containing rations of rice, almonds and raisins. Even in the summer season, the wind knifing through them as they climbed higher into the mountains was bitterly cold and there were ice and drifts of winter snow in the north-facing gullies.

  They passed a chai house at the side of the trail, and the smell of cedar logs and the glow of light from inside were as enticing as the thought of hot food, but travellers might already have brought news of the price on Khan’s head even to this lonely place and the risk of betrayal and capture was too great, so they moved on into the darkness.

  Dawn broke well before they reached the summit of the pass, but this little-used route lay well south of the Khyber Pass and they encountered only one group of travellers, merchants or smugglers herding their plodding donkeys, weighed down with bulky sacks.

  They crossed the border mid-morning but did not stop to rest until they had descended below the treeline and found shelter in an abandoned shepherd’s hut. Its roof had collapsed, leaving it open to the sky, but the stone walls broke the force of the wind. Tired from their long march, they were able to snatch a few hours’ sleep. They moved on again that afternoon, heading steadily south-eastwards through the barren landscape, the brief greening of the slopes at the approach of spring having long given way to a brown, parched wilderness.

  After dark that night they approached the money house. It was a tall building in a fold in the hills, surrounded by a collection of ruined outbuildings and a pile of rubble where another one had collapsed. There were a few other occupied farms and houses in the area, but all were at least half a mile away. They did not approach the house at once, but lay up among the trees, observing the guards. There were two of them that they could see, huddled near the doorway, blowing on their hands to warm them from time to time. There was a glow of lamplight from the building and Khan could smell woodsmoke from the fire burning inside.

  They watched the house for half an hour, then moved quietly towards it. Piruz waited until they were within twenty yards of the guards, then called out, ‘Salaam alaikum. Do not be alarmed, we are friends and followers of Mullah Omar.’

  The guards jumped up and pointed their AK-47s at Khan and Piruz. ‘You lazy dogs!’ shouted Piruz. ‘Be grateful we are not enemies, for if we were, you would surely be dead. I am Piruz, do you not recognise me?’

  The guards bowed and apologised. One of them knocked on the door. A few moments later Khan heard the bolts being drawn and a face peered out. They identified themselves once more and Khan, Piruz and Ghulam were ushered inside. There were a dozen men in the house. Khan recognised two of them as low-ranking Taliban fighters but the others were different.

  They sat together, their lips moving silently as they studied their Qurans. Five were Arabs and the other five did not look like Afghans to Khan either, but more like the Chechens, Uzbeks and other jihadis who had flocked to Afghanistan to fight the Soviets years before. Khan was sure they were al-Qaeda warriors.

  Through a doorway, Khan glimpsed a stockpile of weapons and ammunition and sacking-wrapped bales that could only have been opium.

  Khan spoke to the Taliban fighters. He had to find a reason to get away from the others to silence the HOTB, but he also needed a convincing excuse for remaining outside the house during the night. The laxity of the guards at the door had provided him with one. ‘We’ve brought more American dollars for the cause,’ he said, gesturing towards the sacks they had carried. ‘But my daughter could guard this place better than your men. We walked in here tonight virtually undetected. If we can do it, so can faranji soldiers. You need a better guard system, especially at night. I’m going to go outside and find a place from where I can watch the building and the approaches to it.’

  ‘Good idea, brother,’ Piruz said. ‘We will help you.’

  The last thing that Khan wanted was to have Piruz outside with him, but he had no choice other than to smile and accept his offer. He went outside with Ghulam. Piruz and Piruz’s comrade followed them. They moved around the money house in a gradually expanding circle, exploring the outbuildings and seeking out dips and hollows where they could be concealed and yet able to observe the terrain around them. They eventually chose two sites for guard posts, with a view of each other, the money house and the tracks leading to it. ‘There are four of us,’ Khan said. ‘Shall two watch and two rest, turn and turn about?’

  Piruz gave him a suspicious look. ‘No, we will all watch together,’ he said.

  ‘As you wish, brother,’ Khan said. ‘But will you first keep watch for me while I empty my bowels?’

  Without waiting for an answer, he moved away towards the trees. He knew that his fellow Muslims were both fastidious and prudish about bodily functions; even if he had been under guard, they would not have felt comfortable about following him. He slid the HOTB from his ammunition belt, dropped his trousers and squatted down, then blew a farting sound on the back of his hand, using it to cover the noise as he crushed the HOTB under a rock. Unseen high in the night skies overhead, the AWACs would already be relaying back to Joshua the exact coordinates of the
place where the HOTB had been silenced and within minutes surveillance drones would be converging on it.

  He stood up, poured some of his drinking water into his left hand and washed himself with it in case Piruz was watching him, and then walked back to the others. He glanced at the sky. The attack would not come that night, he was sure, for the first faint glow of dawn was already beginning to colour the eastern horizon, but he was fairly certain that it would happen the following night and he had to be ready for it. Joshua had been reluctant to reveal details of what he had planned, but Khan was sure that the attack would come sooner rather than later.

  An hour after daybreak, they abandoned their posts and returned to the house. The other Taliban fighters left at once to rejoin Fahad, leaving the al-Qaeda men to mount guard during the daylight hours. Khan curled up on the floor near the embers of the fire, but he slept fitfully, plagued by thoughts when he was awake and troubled by dreams when he at last fell asleep.

  He got up just after midday and at once went outside. He stood in the full sunlight, gazing up at the sky. He knew that drones would be overhead by now and if Joshua had needed any confirmation that they were watching the right place, the sight of Khan’s upturned face and the unmistakable milk-white pupil of his left eye would provide it. Piruz emerged a few moments later and gave him a suspicious look, but Khan merely smiled and nodded.

  At sunset that evening they again left the building and mounted guard. Khan and Ghulam stationed themselves in the dip just beyond the pile of rubble. Khan lay full length on the ground while Ghulam took a place half a pace behind him. Piruz and the other fighter took up their positions in dead ground where they could see the opposite side of the house.

  It was a bitter night, with frost sparkling on the ground. Even men as hardened to the mountains as Khan and Ghulam felt the cold seeping into their bones as they lay in wait.