by Will Jordan
‘What better place to keep the man hostage than in one of our own safe houses?’ he asked. ‘It’s secure, it’s anonymous to passers-by, and it’s the last place we’d ever think to look.’
Keegan, however, didn’t seem quite so eager to buy into his theory. ‘That’d be a hell of a risk to take. There must be a hundred easier places to stash him.’
‘Easier, but not as impressive,’ Drake said, refusing to be deflated. ‘Kourash doesn’t just want to beat us. He wants to rub our noses in it, prove how superior he is, just like before. His arrogance and vanity are his biggest enemies.’
Frost shrugged. ‘Good enough for me,’ she decided, already reaching out to pack away her gear.
‘You stay here,’ Drake ordered, giving her a significant look. ‘I want you to get started on what we discussed last night.’
Even if he was right about Mitchell, Anya’s comments about Carpenter still weighed heavily on his mind. He sensed there was more going on than Horizon were willing to admit, more than one aspect to this investigation, and he intended to resolve them all before he was finished.
‘But—’
‘No arguments,’ he cut in, turning his attention to Keegan. ‘John, you’re with me. We need to find Crawford and put together an assault team.’
Keegan’s gaze flicked to Frost, no doubt pondering the meaning of Drake’s instructions to her. ‘Something I should know about?’
‘Best that you don’t,’ Drake advised. The fewer people who knew his intention to probe Horizon’s computer network, the better. ‘Kourash and Mitchell are all we need to focus on right now. Let’s get them.’
Both men were within his grasp. He could feel it. And now that he was closing in, nothing was going to get in his way.
Chapter 21
A small crowd had gathered to watch as the body was heaved up onto a waiting stretcher and wheeled over to a nearby ambulance; no easy task considering the size and weight of the victim.
In most cities, the discovery of a brutal murder in the middle of a street would have elicited shock and outrage from local residents, but here the assembled faces reflected only weary resignation. Kabul had seen more than its share of death over the years, and those experiences had profoundly changed its inhabitants.
Kourash had seen enough. Turning on his heel, he strode quickly away from the scene. His face might have displayed the same casual disinterest as the others, but his eyes blazed with wrath.
Two good men dead in one night – Faraj found lying in a muddy ditch with his throat cut, while Ashraf, or what was left of him, had been discovered in the smouldering remains of the van several miles east of Kabul.
Two good, capable men wasted. And to make matters worse, their mysterious killer was still out there somewhere.
His grim musings were cut short by the buzz of his cellphone. Kourash knew who it was, and flinched inwardly as he imagined the conversation he was about to have.
Punching in the access code, he retreated into an arched doorway and held the phone to his ear. ‘Yes.’
‘You disobeyed my instructions,’ the voice on the other end said without preamble. Even over the phone line, Kourash could hear the veiled menace, the barely contained anger in that voice. ‘Your job was to kill Mitchell and put an end to his work. I presume you have an explanation for this?’
‘Mitchell is taken care of,’ Kourash assured him.
‘Then why are Drake and his team still here?’ his benefactor demanded. ‘Could it be the ransom demand you made?’
He allowed that question to hang in the air for a moment, and Kourash made no attempt to answer it. Any response he gave would be futile anyway.
‘Did you really think I wouldn’t find out? You’re allowing your pride to get the better of you. You’re jeop-ardising everything we’ve worked for. That puts me in a difficult position.’
Kourash’s grip on the phone tightened. ‘This is not about pride.’
He had known the Americans would never give in to his demands to close down Parwan Detention Facility and release all those prisoners. He’d known even before he recorded that video, and in any case he had no interest in seeing ignorant fanatics go free, but that wasn’t his objective. His objective was to attract attention.
‘I don’t care what this is about,’ the voice growled. ‘This has to stop – now, today. Have I made myself clear?’
Kourash bit his lip, incensed by the fact that he was being talked down to. As if he were a disobedient child in need of reprimand.
Still, there was no denying that his benefactor was right about one thing – this had gone far enough. It was time to put an end to Drake and his investigation.
‘You have made yourself very clear, as always,’ he said. ‘I will handle it myself.’
With no further comment from the other end, the line went dead.
Forward Operating Base Salerno, Khost Province
Samantha McKnight braced herself as the UH-1 Huey, a veteran aircraft dating back to the days of Vietnam, touched down hard on the flat expanse of sun-baked earth that served as a landing pad. Dust and sand kicked up by the rotor downwash blasted her exposed skin like buckshot, forcing her to turn her head aside until it subsided.
As the dust storm died down, she unbuckled her safety harness and exited the chopper through the open crew door, glad to be on solid ground after the hour-long flight out here. It seemed every pilot in the US Army was now paranoid about surface-to-air missile attacks, and her own had been no exception, flying high and fast with the engines pushed to maximum.
As the dust from her arrival settled, she surveyed her surroundings with a quick, efficient glance.
Salerno was a Forward Operating Base (FOB); a Coalition outpost in the remote, mountainous border region of Khost Province. It was laid out like most other firebases she’d seen: watchtowers and machine-gun nests around the perimeter, mortar pits further back, and rows of tents, semi-permanent huts and a few larger command and control buildings in the centre.
All of it was protected by lines of Hesco bastions – steel gabions filled with sand and rubble to create cheap and readily assembled fortifications. They were pretty good at stopping tank shells and ground-level shrapnel, but they offered no protection against artillery and mortar strikes.
In the distance, snow-capped mountain peaks towered over the firebase, some reaching to over 3,000 metres. McKnight couldn’t help noticing that a cluster of emplaced Howitzer field guns were trained on those mountains, ready to provide counter-battery fire if the base came under attack.
Turning her attention to the matter at hand, she singled out a passing soldier – a short, stocky man in his mid-twenties who looked as if he spent his days pumping iron in the base gym – and approached him for directions.
‘Hey, pal, where’s your AWO?’
AWO stood for Ammunition Warrant Officer; the man responsible for maintaining the base’s weapons and munitions. If anyone could help them track down their missing Stinger, it was him.
The soldier pointed a thickly muscled arm off to his left. ‘The armoury’s over that way, ma’am. Second building in. You can’t miss it.’
Indeed she couldn’t. As with any military base, the armoury was the most secure and heavily protected building anywhere in the complex. The reason was obvious – they usually contained enough ordnance to flatten a small town.
In this case, the only entrance to the armoured bunker was guarded by two military policemen, neither of whom was feeling very cooperative. It took no small amount of badge-waving on McKnight’s part, but at last she was permitted to enter.
Passing through the steel blast doors, she found herself in a cool, clean, climate-controlled world that might as well have been on another planet, such was the contrast with the scorching heat outside.
A couple of low-level Ordnance Corps personnel were on duty there, going through inventories and typing up reports. Neither of them was the person McKnight wanted to speak to.
‘What’
s this all about?’ a gruff, fleshy voice demanded.
The base’s AWO ambled into the room from an adjacent office, his voluminous gut seeming to arrive a few seconds before he did. He was a big man, both tall and broad, his wide face accentuated by his greying flat-top hairstyle. Apparently fitness tests weren’t mandatory in his line of work.
‘This isn’t an open house,’ he added, his dark gaze taking in the three new arrivals. The name tag on his shirt said ‘Olson’. ‘And I don’t appreciate anyone forcing their way in here.’
‘I understand that, sir,’ McKnight replied, trying to sound more apologetic than she felt. ‘But this is an urgent matter.’
Olson’s eyes fixed on her. ‘And you are?’
‘Samantha McKnight, CIA. I need to ask you a few questions.’
Whatever element of derision or disdain had tainted Olson’s attitude towards her, it vanished in an instant. He gestured to the door he had just squeezed through. ‘You’d better come with me.’
The AWO’s small windowless office was as neat and precise as the rest of the building. Whatever his shortcomings in terms of fitness, he was clearly an exacting man when it came to organising his surroundings.
Closing the door, Olson turned to face her, his ruddy face now visibly drained of colour. ‘Let me guess. You’re here to ask questions about Stinger missiles.’
She frowned, perplexed by his revelation. ‘How did you know that?’
‘Because you’re the second agent this week to come here.’
Chapter 22
Drake was in the passenger seat of a US Army Humvee, being jolted and jostled around as the vehicle roared down the main highway towards Kabul. A second vehicle, part of the same convoy, tailed them about 20 yards back. Four armed agents were packed into it.
After they’d reported their findings to Crawford, it had taken mere minutes to call up a list of all safe houses established by Mitchell. Whatever else the man had been doing out here, he had been diligent in his official role.
The first safe house was located in Jalalabad near the border with Pakistan, with two more in Kandahar, the country’s second largest city. The fourth, however, house 4, was in Kabul.
‘It was only bought a month ago,’ Crawford explained, one hand on the wheel, the other on the gear stick as he manoeuvred the big vehicle around a slow-moving cattle truck. He was driving with a heavy foot, pushing the engine hard. ‘According to Mitchell’s last report, it was still being prepped for activation.’
Which made it even better as a hiding place, Drake thought. No one was going to turn up inconveniently and see something they shouldn’t.
‘What do you mean, bought?’ Keegan asked, having to shout from the back seat to be heard over the roar of the engine.
‘How do you think we get our hands on these places?’ Crawford called back over his shoulder. ‘We buy them. Our guys pose as businessmen, property developers or whatever, they make an offer and buy them. Then they get to work installing all the hardware they’ll need.’
Safe houses came in all shapes and sizes. Some were nothing more than one-bedroom apartments which served only as a place to sleep, while others were virtual fortresses equipped with everything from secure communications suites to panic rooms and high-tech alarm systems.
By the sounds of things, this place belonged in the latter category.
‘How long till we get there?’ Drake asked, unable to mask his impatience.
Crawford spared him a sideways glance. ‘About another ten minutes.’
Drake was about to reply, but the buzz of his cellphone caught his attention. As he’d hoped, it was McKnight.
‘Sam, how’s it going?’
‘Well, my theory was correct,’ she began. ‘The Stinger never made it out here. I’ve just spoken to the base AWO, and compared the delivery manifest from Bagram with the one out here. We’re short by one launcher and three missiles. I even did a visual check of their arsenal to confirm it. Somehow they vanished on the way out here.’
Which meant Kourash had the capacity to shoot down two more aircraft, Drake thought. ‘Any ideas?’
‘It seems logical that Anwari’s group had help,’ McKnight said, speaking quieter as if she was afraid of being overheard. ‘Weapon systems like this don’t just fall off the backs of trucks. This was an inside job.’
Drake was inclined to agree. It was an unpleasant fact to face up to, but an unavoidable one.
‘It could have been the AWO,’ he suggested. ‘He could have forged the transfer documents and helped smuggle the weapon out.’
‘I wouldn’t rule it out,’ she agreed. ‘But it would have been easier to offload the Stinger before it got here and hand him a fake manifest. If we want answers, my guess is we’ll find them in the supply convoy that brought it here.’
‘Agreed,’ he said. ‘Stay on it, let me know what you turn up.’
‘Will do. I’ll be off comms for the next hour or so until I get back to Bagram.’ She paused for a moment, weighing up how much to share over the phone. ‘Listen, there’s something else you should know.’
Drake braced himself as their Humvee swerved and roared past a Toyota pickup, receiving an angry horn blast in return.
‘Yeah?’
‘I’m not the first person out here asking about Stingers,’ she announced. ‘Mitchell was here, just a few days ago.’
That was enough to shatter whatever sense of distraction he might have felt. Drake’s eyes opened wider as the realisation sank in that a big piece of the puzzle had just landed right in his lap. ‘He was following the same trail as us.’
‘It looks that way. He came requesting a copy of the delivery manifest, then he boarded a chopper bound for Bagram. He never made it back.’
‘Shit …’ Drake gripped the phone tighter. It couldn’t have been coincidence that Mitchell’s chopper had been shot down as he returned from that meeting. ‘I want to know about that convoy. Throw everything you have at it.’
‘You know I will.’ Hearing the roar of wind and engines in the background, she added, ‘By the way, where are you?’
‘En route to Kabul. We have a lead on Mitchell’s location.’ He didn’t have time to go into his discovery of the hidden message – that could wait until later. ‘We’re following it up now.’
‘All right. For all our sakes, I hope you find him. Watch your back out there, Ryan.’
‘I always do,’ he promised. ‘Drake out.’
Shoving the phone in his pocket, he surreptitiously removed the one given to him by Anya and composed a brief text message. She still hadn’t replied to his previous message, but he felt obligated to honour their agreement.
May have a lead on Mike. Checking it out now.
After hitting send, he quickly hid the phone again. He didn’t want his companions seeing it and asking questions. But he was willing to risk it for her.
And maybe, just maybe, he would soon have some good news.
Chapter 23
Situated on a hillside on the southern outskirts of Kabul, the villa provided an impressive view over the sprawling city. It had been built during the Soviet occupation, and used as the personal residence of some senior figure or other in the puppet government that had tried to run the country before it all fell apart.
Now it belonged to Kourash, one of several properties he owned across the country – bases from which he could operate. A monument to his former enemies, steeped in luxury and excess, and it was all his.
Downstairs in the building’s lower floor, a dozen of his men worked and planned and coordinated, using secure satellite phones and encrypted computers to relay their orders and receive reports. This was the nerve centre of his operation; the place from which he planned and directed the attacks that had made him one of the most feared insurgents in the whole country.
The days of hiding in dank caves were far behind them.
But as he sat alone in the wide living area with its panoramic view of the city, none of it mattered to hi
m. He exhaled slowly, willing his mind to calm. And as they so often did at times like this, his thoughts drifted towards Mina.
He had no pictures of her, nothing to keep her image constant in his mind. And in truth he was starting to forget what she had looked like, the image of her slowly dissolving with each passing year. Instead he saw little flashes, moments in time that had somehow imprinted themselves in his memory.
He remembered the way her eyes had flashed with anger when they argued, the feel of her hair the first time they made love, the sound of her laughter in those rare moments when they had known happiness.
All of it was gone now. Mina had been as courageous and loyal to him as any soldier, staying by his side throughout the long years of conflict, enduring every hardship and danger without complaint. But in the end it had all been for nothing. She was gone, taken from him. And the man responsible had yet to be punished.
His pursuit of vengeance had endangered his operation, had put his very life at stake. But it would be worth it, he told himself. It would all be worth it.
All his life, Kourash had had to fight for everything. Respect, power, influence, even survival. And his long years of struggle had taught him one thing – that a man stood or fell by what he could take from life.
Well, he intended to take one more thing today. He intended to take the life of Ryan Drake.
‘This is it,’ Crawford warned as they approached a gated house directly ahead. ‘Gear up.’
Much like the others in what seemed to be a fairly affluent neighbourhood, it was a detached two-storey structure set within a walled garden. They couldn’t see much of the ground floor from their current position, but judging by the design of the upper storey, the place had probably been built in the late fifties or early sixties. This wasn’t one of the ancient sandstone dwellings in the heart of the city, but a modern and spacious home that had likely once belonged to a wealthy family.
