False Friends (The 9th Spider Shepherd Thriller)

by Stephen Leather

  Table of Contents

  Also by Stephen Leather

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Seal Alpha stood …

  Also by Stephen Leather

  Pay Off

  The Fireman

  Hungry Ghost

  The Chinaman

  The Vets

  The Long Shot

  The Birthday Girl

  The Double Tap

  The Solitary Man

  The Tunnel Rats

  The Bombmaker

  The Stretch

  Tango One

  The Eyewitness

  Spider Shepherd Thrillers

  Hard Landing

  Soft Target

  Cold Kill

  Hot Blood

  Dead Men

  Live Fire

  Rough Justice

  Fair Game

  Jack Nightingale Supernatural Thrillers

  Nightfall

  Midnight

  Nightmare

  To find out about these and future titles, visit

  www.stephenleather.com.

  FALSE FRIENDS

  Stephen Leather

  www.hodder.co.uk

  First published in Great Britain in 2012 by Hodder & Stoughton

  An Hachette UK company

  Copyright © Stephen Leather 2012

  The right of Stephen Leather to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

  Ebook ISBN 978 1 444 70835 6

  Hardback ISBN 978 0 340 92499 0

  Hodder & Stoughton Ltd

  338 Euston Road

  London NW1 3BH

  www.hodder.co.uk

  For Sam

  Seal Alpha stood up, bracing himself against the fuselage. ‘Lock and load!’ he shouted. ‘Five minutes and counting.’ His name was Adam Croft and he was the ranking non-commissioned officer and leader of the mission, a ten-year veteran of the Navy Seals who had spent half of those years serving in Iraq and Afghanistan. There were thirteen Navy Seals sitting on the floor of the UH-60 Black Hawk helicopter. All the seats had been stripped out to keep the payload to a minimum. The Seals weren’t in any way superstitious and thirteen was the maximum number that could be squeezed into the belly of the helicopter. All thirteen had been hand-picked by Croft.

  The Seals started chambering rounds as Croft and the Black Hawk crew chief readied the four ropes that they would be using to abseil down into the courtyard close to the main house. They were all dressed in the same desert camouflage fatigues and bulletproof vests but their headwear varied. Some favoured Kevlar helmets, others wore scarves or floppy hats. Their weapons varied too. Most cradled M4 rifles fitted with noise suppressors but there were several Heckler & Koch MP7 carbines and one pump-action shotgun. They all wore noise-cancelling headsets to neutralise the roar of the Black Hawk’s two General Electric T700 turboshaft engines.

  The co-pilot waved again. Three fingers. ‘Three minutes, guys!’ shouted Croft. He peered through a window. They were flying over houses and roads, but there were no street lights and almost all the homes were in darkness. Abbottabad didn’t have much in the way of nightlife and it was now almost one o’clock in the morning. He couldn’t see the second helicopter but he knew it would be close by, somewhere to starboard.

  The helicopters were in full stealth mode, their engines quietened, their bodies covered with a radar-dampening fabric coating, their tail sections modified, including extra blades on the tail rotors. Pakistan was supposedly America’s ally in the war against terrorism, but no one in the White House took that alliance seriously and the Pakistani authorities had not been informed of the mission.

  The turbines powered down and the nose pitched up as the helicopter transitioned into a hover.

  ‘This is it, guys – go to night vision!’ shouted Croft.

  The men removed their noise-cancelling headsets and pulled on their night-vision goggles, pressing the button on the right-hand side that activated them. Croft pulled on his own and blinked as they flicked on, casting everything in a green hue. The Seals were from the Naval Special Warfare Development Group but everyone knew them as Team Six. So far as US special forces went, they were the best of the best. They had been training for the mission for more than six weeks in North Carolina followed by another three weeks at Camp Alpha, a highly secure area of Bagram Air Base in Afghanistan.

  The Black Hawk hovered about a hundred feet above the building. It was a manoeuvre the pilot had practised a hundred times over a mock-up of the compound at Camp Alpha. Contractors had built a replica of the compound and the three-storey building, complete with contents. He eased back on the power and the helicopter began to descend. He scanned the instruments but he was flying by feel, as if the helicopter was an extension of his own body.

  ‘One hundred feet,’ said his co-pilot.

  The helicopter slowly dropped, the backwash kicking up dust in the compound below.

  ‘Ninety feet,’ said the co-pilot.

  The pilot smiled to himself. He didn’t need the verbal reminder of how high they were; he could do this bit with his eyes closed.

  ‘Eighty feet,’ said the co-pilot. ‘All good.’

  The pilot grinned. He knew it was all good. Compared to some of the missions he’d been on in Iraq this was a piece of cake. At least no one was firing missiles at him.

  The helicopter began to shudder and he had to fight the pedals to keep it from swinging around.

  ‘What’s the problem?’ asked the co-pilot.

  The nose pitched down and then just as quickly reared up. Both men scanned the instruments, trying to see if there was a technical problem, but everything seemed to be working perfectly; it was just that the helicopter was refusing to respond. It began to spin to the left as it continued to descend, faster now.

  ‘Seventy feet,’ said the co-pilot.

  The juddering intensified and the pilot felt the rudder pedals banging up and down, beating a rapid tattoo on the soles of his feet. ‘I’m losing it,’ he said. ‘We’re going to have to abort.’

  The helicopter continued to spin and the pilot pulled on the collective to increase power, then pushed the cyclic forward trying to get the helicopter moving forward.

  ‘We’re going down!’ shouted the co-pilot.

  The pilot gritted his teeth as he fought to regain control of the helicopter but nothing seemed to be working. It bucked and tossed like a living thing and his hands were aching from the strain of gripping the controls. ‘Help me with the cyclic!’ he shouted. ‘I’m losing it.’

  The co-pilot grabbed at the cyclic between his legs but it was too late: the helicopter was spinning out of control and losing height rapidly.

  The pilot twisted round in his seat. ‘We’re going down!’ he shouted. ‘Brace, brace, brace!’

  His words were lost in the roar of the turbines but the Seals knew that they were in trouble and they grabbed on to whatever support they could find.

  The pilot turned back to the instruments
but realised immediately that there was no point: if they were going to survive he’d have to fly by instinct alone. The helicopter was spinning in an anticlockwise direction so he pushed the cyclic to the right to try to counteract it and pulled the collective up to full power. They were going to hit the ground, he was sure of that, so all he could do was try to lessen the impact.

  Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of the other Black Hawk. It was hovering just outside the north-east corner of the compound. He yanked the cyclic, trying to push the spinning helicopter away to the west. If he collided with the other helicopter it would all be over.

  ‘Thirty feet!’ shouted the co-pilot.

  They were still over the compound, spinning crazily. The perimeter wall was eighteen feet high.

  ‘Brace for impact!’ the pilot screamed, though he knew that no one would hear him over the noise of the engines.

  He saw the house flash by and realised that he was too far away to hit it but he still had to worry about the wall. The power was on full and the turbines were screaming but the rotor blades just didn’t seem to be generating any lift.

  ‘Twenty feet!’

  Below him was the wall and then they were over it, but as he struggled to stop the spinning there was the sound of tortured metal and the helicopter lurched to the left. The tail rotor had slammed into the wall and almost certainly disintegrated in the impact.

  The pilot reacted instantly, thrusting the cyclic forward so that the Black Hawk would hit the ground nose first. If they hit side on the main rotor would slam into the ground and the resulting crash would destroy the rotor blades and send lethal shrapnel through the cabin. He saw the ground rushing up at him and then they hit, hard, the cockpit shattering and the harness biting into his shoulders with such force that his right collarbone snapped. He could hear panicked shouts from behind him and then everything went black.

  ‘Go left, left, left!’ shouted the co-pilot of Helo Two but the pilot was already pushing the cyclic to the left to get it away from Helo One. He was also pulling the collective up so that they gained height. He concentrated on the instrument panel, which meant that he lost sight of the other helicopter, but the way that it had been spinning left him in no doubt that it had crashed.

  A Seal appeared behind him. ‘What’s happening?’ screamed the Seal but the pilot ignored him and concentrated on flying the helicopter. The crew chief grabbed the Seal’s arm and pushed him down to the floor, then pointed a warning finger at the man. While they were in the air the aircrew were in charge and the last thing they needed was soldiers in full combat gear moving about when they weren’t supposed to.

  The Black Hawk gained altitude and the pilot put it into a hover outside the compound, then turned it round so that he could see what was happening to Helo One.

  ‘They’re piling out,’ said the co-pilot.

  ‘Any sign of fire?’ asked the pilot.

  ‘They look okay. The rear rotor is smashed and the tail’s broken but that’s it. The main rotor isn’t even damaged. They were lucky.’

  ‘If they were lucky they wouldn’t have crashed in the first place. You have control.’

  The co-pilot gripped the cyclic and tested the rudders. ‘I have control,’ he said and he took over the flying while the pilot clicked on his mic so that he could speak to the Seal in command behind him. ‘Helo One is down,’ he said. ‘What do you want to do?’

  Chief Petty Officer Guy Henderson cursed under his breath. He peered out of one of the side windows but couldn’t see the downed helicopter. ‘They okay?’

  ‘There’s no fire and they’re getting out. But they’re outside the compound.’

  ‘Can you patch me through to Seal Alpha?’

  ‘I can talk to the pilot and co-pilot but they look like they’re busy right now. It has to be your call, unless you want to talk to command centre.’

  ‘Negative that,’ said Henderson. His mind raced. In all the rehearsals they’d carried out in North Carolina and Afghanistan they hadn’t once considered that one of the helicopters would crash. There was no contingency plan for what had just happened and he knew that if the decision as to what to do next was left up to the top brass then the mission would probably be aborted. There were simply too many chiefs: the President was in ultimate control in the White House but he wasn’t a soldier, so it would be up to his military advisors to make the call. That meant taking the views of the command centres in CIA headquarters at Langley Virginia, the Navy Seals’ command centre in Afghanistan and the command centre in the American Embassy in Islamabad. By the time a consensus had been reached Pakistani jets would have been scrambled and be on their way.

  ‘Clock’s ticking,’ said the pilot. ‘You’re going to have to make a decision here. Do we continue or do we go into rescue mode?’

  Henderson held up a gloved hand. By now Helo One should have been in position over the courtyard and the Seals dropping down on ropes before storming the house. Helo Two should have been dropping four of its Seals outside the compound to secure the perimeter and then Henderson and the rest of the team were to be dropped on to the roof of the main building to gain access from there. But that clearly wasn’t going to happen now. When the CIA had first been told who was living in the compound President Obama had considered demolishing the building using B2 stealth bombers, and then had discussed using armed drones with Hellfire missiles; but he had been advised that neither offered a cast-iron guarantee of success. The only way to be sure was to send in a team of Seals, which is when they had begun to plan Operation Neptune’s Spear. Two pilotless drones fitted with high-resolution infrared cameras were already three miles above the compound and sending back live visual feeds to the other side of the world, where the President and his staff were gathered in the White House’s situation room.

  The fact that the President was watching made Henderson’s head spin but he forced himself to concentrate on his options. They could change the plan completely and all go to the roof, but the element of surprise had gone and the occupants might well start shooting. They could drop down into the compound and take the role of the Helo One strike team and storm the building through the front door, but they hadn’t rehearsed that and they’d be using only half the number of men they’d used in training.

  Henderson jerked his thumb down. ‘Take her down, outside the compound,’ he said. ‘Let’s see what Adam says.’

  Croft made sure that all his men were out safely, then he hurried over to the cockpit. The pilot was slumped forward but seemed to be breathing. The co-pilot had unbuckled his harness and taken off his helmet but was having trouble opening his door, which had buckled in the crash. Croft ran round to it, and using all his strength he managed to yank it open.

  ‘Is everyone okay?’ asked the co-pilot.

  ‘Shaken but nothing broken,’ said Croft. ‘What about the helo? Will she blow?’

  The co-pilot shook his head. ‘All the electrics are off and the fuel tanks haven’t ruptured, so no, she won’t burn.’

  The pilot groaned and the co-pilot and Croft opened the door, unbuckled his harness and helped him out. He was conscious but groggy and they sat him down next to a concrete wall. They’d landed in an animal compound, close to a feeding pen filled with grain. A small herd of scrawny cows had bolted when the helicopter crashed but were now standing a hundred feet away, watching what was going on, their tails swishing from side to side.

  Croft looked across the street. The second Black Hawk was hovering a few feet above a field. It landed gently and the Seals on board piled out, bent double to keep their heads away from the spinning rotor blades.

  The leader of the Helo Two Seals rushed over to Seal Alpha. ‘You okay, Adam?’

  ‘I’ve been better,’ said Croft.

  ‘Do we abort?’ asked Henderson.

  ‘Hell no,’ said Croft. ‘We’ve no injuries so all we’ve got to do is go through the main gate. But get your pilot to radio for a Chinook to get us out of here.’

/>   ‘Roger that,’ said Henderson, and he ran back to the Black Hawk.

  The co-pilot gestured at the wrecked helicopter behind them. ‘We’re going to have to destroy the electronics and then burn the ship,’ he said.

  ‘Wait until we’re out,’ said Croft. He waved at his team. ‘Let’s get into the compound,’ he said. ‘The clock’s ticking.’ He jogged over to the compound wall and examined the gate. It was metal with wheels on the bottom so that it could be pushed to the side. He tried to move it, but it was obviously locked on the inside. He kicked it hard, several times, and it rattled but remained obstinately closed.

  All the Seals from Helo Two had moved some distance away because the main rotor was still turning. Henderson leaned into the belly of Helo Two and briefed the crew chief.

  When he’d finished talking a soldier holding a Heckler & Koch put a hand on his arm. ‘What’s happening, Guy?’

  The soldier was English, the only non-American on the team, and although he was there as an observer he had been issued with a Glock pistol and Heckler & Koch MP5 carbine complete with suppressor.

  ‘We’re going ahead, but through the gate,’ said Henderson. ‘We can’t risk losing the second helo.’

  The crew chief appeared at the Black Hawk’s side door. ‘Chinook’s on its way. ETA five-zero minutes.’

  ‘Roger that,’ said Henderson. He nodded at the Englishman. His name was Dan Shepherd and he worked for MI5, the British intelligence agency. It was MI5 who had provided much of the intelligence on the interior of the compound and they had insisted that they were represented on the mission. Shepherd had been chosen because he had a special forces background with the Special Air Service, the nearest thing the Brits had to the Seals. ‘I’ve got to talk to Adam, stick with me.’

  Henderson jogged over to Croft with Shepherd following closely behind. Croft looked up as they reached him. ‘What’s the story?’ he asked.

  ‘Chinook’s on its way, ETA fifty minutes. What’s the plan, Adam?’

  ‘We breach the compound,’ said Croft. ‘Then in through the front door.’

  ‘What about my team?’

  ‘Four men to secure the perimeter; you and the rest follow me.’ He waved at a short, squat Seal who was standing looking at the downed helicopter. ‘Get the C4 out, Tommy,’ he said. ‘Blow this fucking gate in.’