The Kill Zone

by Chris Ryan

  He checked his weapon, then squinted at the building. The main entrance was the only visible way in. If he slid the door open, they would assume it was Caroline and as he’d be standing in the dark he’d have a momentary advantage. If everything went to plan, the occupants of the building wouldn’t realise he was hostile until he started firing, and by then it would be too late.

  He turned to Siobhan. She was looking up at him, anxiety in her face. ‘Be careful,’ she whispered.

  ‘Remember. Thirty seconds.’

  He stood up again and prepared to cover the fifteen metres of open ground between them and the building.

  But the preparations didn’t last long.

  If Jack had hit the ground two seconds later, he’d have been dead. Two technicals suddenly skidded round from the far side of the building, their machine guns pumping randomly into the air; above the sound of the weaponry, the vicious shouting of the shooters. Only when they’d come to a halt did they switch their headlamps on, and by that time Jack was hugging the dirt as several rounds ricocheted with metallic sparks off the rusted vehicle.

  Silence.

  There was another burst of random fire that missed them only by chance. Jack realised they’d been seen. ‘Shit,’ he hissed. Their options were limited. Emerge from behind the vehicle and they’d be lit up like bunnies in a headlight. Jack could try to pick off the top-gunners, but he’d be blinded by the lights, and to fire a gun would just reveal their position.

  A loudspeaker. Through it, an African voice. Deep. Resonant. ‘Show yourselves. If we see weapons, we will fire. You have twenty seconds.’

  Jack and Siobhan looked at each other. She still had her gun pressed to Caroline’s knee.

  ‘Fifteen seconds.’

  ‘If we show ourselves, they’ll shoot,’ Siobhan said.

  ‘Maybe,’ Jack replied. He was desperately trying to think of a way out. But he could read the situation well enough. There wasn’t one.

  ‘We could use her as a hostage,’ Siobhan suggested, desperation in her voice, but Jack shook his head.

  ‘Trust me,’ he said. ‘They’ll just kill her.’

  ‘They won’t kill me,’ Caroline interrupted with scorn.

  ‘Shut the fuck up or I will.’

  ‘Ten seconds.’

  Jack thrust his rifle and the canvas bag under the vehicle. ‘Hold on to your weapon. I’ll go out first. If they start shooting, use the rifle.’

  ‘Five seconds.’

  He stood up. Then, with his hands in the air, he stepped out into the beams of light.

  It was almost a surprise that there was no gunfire to mow him down; just two silhouettes, approaching from in front of the technicals. Jack was able to make out their bandoliers and rifles. By the time they were no longer silhouettes but actual figures that he could see and smell and fear, Siobhan had joined him, her hands in the air too.

  And only then did Caroline start to scream. Half pain, half fury – a million miles from the woman Jack had spent the night with, what seemed like a century ago. ‘Tell Khan to kill them!’ she yelled, as the Somali guards held them at gunpoint. ‘Tell Khan to damn well kill them!’

  The inside of the iron building was a contrast to the outside. There was no proper flooring, so the ground was still little more than dusty earth, but the bright white lights powered by the rumbling generator made the place seem strangely modern. Along one side of the wall were crates of bottled water; and just beyond them, a couple of low mattresses and a rusted old refrigerator. On the opposite wall were jerrycans of fuel, presumably to replenish the generator, and the pungent smell of the fumes penetrated the air. In the middle of the room, scientific instruments that meant nothing to Jack were laid out on metal tables, and a silver flight case, no different to the one he’d seen in Helmand, lying on its side.

  And at the far end of the building, by the wall, were a number of bodies. It was impossible to say quite how many because they had fallen in a mangled heap, but Jack estimated nine or ten Africans. It was obvious that they’d been lined up before being shot. On the wall above them was a poster. The one concession this place had to homeliness. It showed Emmanuel Adebayor, in his Manchester City strip. The African footballer smiled brightly over this scene of unspeakable carnage. In the wall beyond the corpses, to the right of Adebayor, there was another door. It was through there that the guards must have exited to get their technicals.

  Standing by the flight case was Habib Khan. His dishdasha was pure white, apart from a splash of red across the chest that looked as if someone had flicked paint at it. Two men stood on either side of him – heavily armed Somalis, each of them a good head taller than Khan himself.

  There were other guards, too. Ten of them in all, as Caroline had said. Six had hustled Jack and Siobhan into the building and even now were forcing them up against the left-hand wall and telling them to keep their hands on their heads before retreating. Two more stood on either side of the main door, and just in front of them was Caroline. She cradled her broken finger in her good hand, her face was even paler than usual and her eyes contained more venom than Jack had ever seen.

  There was an ominous silence in the building. Khan removed his little round spectacles, buffed them on the material of his robes, then replaced them on his nose and peered, owl-like, at them.

  ‘I already know Miss Hoskins of course,’ he said in quiet, precise tones, ‘but I imagine that is an assumed name. I will require you to tell me who you are, and for whom you work.’

  Jack didn’t say a word. Nor did Siobhan. They just stared defiantly at him.

  Khan raised an eyebrow. ‘It would be boring if I had to force this information out of you,’ he observed.

  ‘You don’t need to.’ It was Caroline who spoke, through gritted teeth as she tried to master the pain in her hand.

  Khan looked sharply at her. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I know him. We met in Afghanistan. His name is Captain Jack Harker and he’s a member of the SAS. He was part of the unit that shut down the other operation.’

  Khan’s eyes narrowed. ‘Indeed . . .’

  Jack jutted his chin out. ‘There’s a special-forces backup unit on its way,’ he said. ‘Any minute. You’re fucked, Khan. It’s over.’

  ‘He’s lying,’ Caroline interrupted. ‘They interrogated me. They knew nothing about what was going on here . . .’

  But Khan had raised one hand to silence her, and Caroline’s voice petered out. He stepped a few paces closer to Jack and Siobhan, then eyed them carefully, as if he were examining an item for purchase. His face grew shrewd and eventually he shook his head. ‘No,’ he breathed. ‘You would not be here with a mere woman if it were in an . . .’ He searched for the words. ‘An official capacity.’

  ‘They’re chancers,’ Caroline raged. ‘They don’t know what they’ve stumbled upon.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Khan said. ‘Perhaps not.’

  ‘What’s your target, Khan?’ Jack demanded. ‘London? New York?’

  Khan remained silent, but a mysterious look crossed his face. He turned and walked back towards the flight case.

  Suddenly Siobhan’s voice echoed off the metal walls of the building. ‘Where is she, Khan?’ she asked.

  Khan stopped, then turned again. It was impossible to read his expression. ‘Where is who, my dear?’ he asked.

  Siobhan’s eyes were burning. ‘Lily Byrne. I know you’ve got her and she’s all we want. Where is she?’

  An agonising pause. And then, slowly, Khan’s lips creased into an incredulous smile. ‘You have come all this way for her?’ he demanded.

  Jack felt his insides crunch up. Khan wasn’t even denying it. Everything else faded into the background – Caroline, the device, everything. ‘What did you say?’ he hissed.

  Khan looked from one to the other, his eyes cruel and bright. ‘You thought I would bring that girl to this place? You have followed me just for her?’

  ‘Don’t listen to them,’ Caroline interrupted. �
�They know about the device. They’re just trying to—’

  ‘Quiet!’ Khan approached Siobhan and inclined his head. ‘And why are you so interested in my pretty white whore?’ he whispered.

  Jack couldn’t help himself. He went for Khan, but instantly Khan’s guards stepped forwards, their guns trained on him. Jack stopped and raised his hands.

  ‘I am astonished,’ said Khan, ‘that anyone would risk their lives for that wretched creature.’

  ‘You’d be surprised just what I’d do for her,’ Jack said.

  ‘Then you waste your time. Western women, with their appetites and their needs, are little more than animals. Like bitches on heat. But she is worse than most. Worse than a dog.’ His eyes shone as he taunted them. ‘She is dirty,’ he gloated. ‘Filthy. She begs me and my soldiers to favour her in return for the drugs that she cannot live without.’

  Jack felt surrounded by a hot haze of rage.

  ‘Where is she?’ he breathed.

  ‘Imprisoned,’ Khan smiled. ‘Alone. If she isn’t dead now, she will be soon. I do not plan to return to her.’ He stepped closer to Jack. ‘Perhaps you don’t believe what I say about white women,’ he breathed, his lips thin with contempt. ‘Perhaps you require a demonstration?’

  He turned again and walked away from them, then barked an instruction in Arabic. The two guards standing by the main door stepped inside and approached the flight case. One of them picked it up and walked out with the device, while the other stuck close to him, his weapon primed. Khan continued to speak to the remaining guards. Five of them nodded with unpleasant grins on their faces; the other three closed up around Khan.

  ‘Professor Stenton,’ he announced. ‘Please join our friends by the wall.’

  A look of confusion crossed her pained face. ‘But I’m coming with you—’

  ‘Now!’ Khan said, and to reinforce his instruction one of the men approached and pushed her over towards Jack and Siobhan. She fell to the ground between them.

  ‘What’s going on?’ she demanded.

  But Khan and his guards were already moving towards the exit. As he stood by the door, he looked at Jack. ‘I have places to be. These men –’ he indicated the five Somali guards who were left ‘– have served me well. I have instructed them that they may have their fun with the girls before they kill you all. They are simple men, after all – but they too have appetites. I don’t know what Lily Byrne is to you. I don’t really care. But think of her while you watch, because it is no more than what she does back in London. I hope you enjoy the spectacle.’

  Khan’s eyes flashed – the eyes of a madman. He strode out of the building, his three guards surrounding him, while the others kept their guns trained on Jack and Siobhan. ‘Habib!’ Stenton shouted. ‘Habib! Don’t you dare . . . How could you . . .’ Nobody paid her any attention. From outside, there was the sound of a vehicle moving away.

  And then silence. Both outside and inside the building.

  Jack immediately started working out his options. His snubnose was still secreted round his ankle, but that only gave him six rounds. And even if he went for it, they’d mow him down in an instant if they saw him move. They were outnumbered and out-armed. He exchanged a glance with Siobhan. Unless they could raise some kind of distraction, they didn’t stand a fucking chance . . .

  Stenton was shaking. ‘Let me go! Let me out of here!’ The five Somali guards ignored her. They were all dressed similarly: ragged jeans, dirty T-shirts, black and white keffiyehs wrapped round their necks. One of them stepped forward. He had sallow, sunken eyes, a dead expression and a rank smell. He looked first at Caroline.

  Then he looked at Siobhan. He smiled.

  It was Siobhan whom he selected.

  The sallow-eyed man pointed his gun at her, then flicked it to indicate that she should walk to the end of the room where the dead bodies lay. She gave him a hateful look. But her only option, for now, was to comply.

  Siobhan moved slowly to the end of the room, the gunman right behind her. He gave a harsh-sounding instruction. She stopped and turned to him. Anyone who saw her would think she was scared. No doubt she was. But Jack knew her well and saw something else. Her palms were open; her legs were slightly apart to keep her balance. And when she glanced briefly at him, he understood and nodded imperceptibly: she was choosing her moment carefully, and he needed to be ready.

  The other guards still had their guns trained on Jack and Caroline, whose body was shaking, although it was impossible to tell if this was a result of the pain in her finger, Khan’s betrayal or fear at the agony and humiliation to come. Their attention, though, was elsewhere. They were watching to see what would happen at the end of the room, in anticipation of their own turn . . .

  The sallow-faced gunman used his firearm to prod Siobhan’s breasts. She gave him a defiant stare, and he looked over his shoulder to leer at his companions.

  That was his mistake.

  Siobhan moved like lightning. With one hand she yanked the firearm upwards, then lifted her right leg to knee her would-be rapist in the groin. He groaned and bent double just as he discharged his weapon. A burst of fire echoed around the building – first the noise of discharge, then the tinny sound of the rounds ricocheting from the metal roof. The remaining guards looked at each other.

  It was that second that gave Siobhan and Jack the time they needed.

  Siobhan crooked one arm round the neck of her man, then spun him round so that he was facing the others. He was still carrying his weapon, so she stretched out her free arm and pulled his finger back against the trigger. Rounds sprayed across the room, hitting one of the guards in the chest, and forcing another to run for the door.

  Jack hit the floor, rolling the couple of metres over towards the man Siobhan had downed just as a spray of rounds hit the wall behind him. Caroline wasn’t so lucky. She screamed as a stray round caught her squarely in the thigh, spraying blood over the floor. The remaining guards didn’t bother finishing her off. They knew Jack was the threat. They were a couple of metres apart, five metres from Jack and bearing down on him.

  Jack pulled his snubnose from his ankle just as a burst missed him by inches as he rolled away. It took less than a second to aim the revolver and fire two rounds, both entering the foreheads of the two guards and killing them outright.

  Jack tried to take everything in. There was screaming from Caroline; the remaining guard was leaving the building; but there was also scuffling from the back of the building, and he knew what that meant. He pushed himself up to his feet, spun round and saw Siobhan struggling with the sallow-faced gunman. She still had her arm round his throat and his eyes were bulging; but he was clearly stronger than he looked and had managed to move his weapon so that it was almost pointing over his shoulder.

  Jack launched himself, swinging his legs over the metal table and running towards them. The man’s eyes widened and he moved his rifle forward again. But before he could fire at Jack, Siobhan yanked him to the right so that his bullets again sprayed against the metal wall.

  And then Jack was on him. He put the snubnose to the Somali’s head, and fired. There was an explosion of red blood, white bone and slushy grey brain matter that spattered over Siobhan, Jack and the picture of Adebayor on the wall.

  Outside there was the noise of another truck starting. ‘He’s getting away!’ Siobhan shouted. Jack was halfway across the room before the dead man had even slumped to the floor. He ignored Caroline’s howls of pain, but by the time he was outside, the technical was twenty metres away. Jack got down on one knee and into the firing position. He had three rounds left, but only needed two to take out the back tyres of the vehicle.

  Siobhan’s voice from the door: ‘We need him alive, Jack! He can lead us to Khan!’

  He was already on it, bearing down quickly on the technical, his revolver arm stretched out in front, a single round left. The final Somali guard, however, scrambled quickly into the back of the technical where a GPMG was mounted on a sturdy tripo
d.

  Jack was ten metres away. The GPMG was loaded and the guard was pointing it towards him. Jack hissed with frustration. He had to take him out, now, otherwise he was a goner.

  He squeezed the trigger and the snubnose fired; but at that moment – more by luck, it seemed, than by design – the guard moved out of the way and the round flew harmlessly into the air beyond him.

  Jack froze. The guard was grinning, his teeth as yellow as his eyes. He clearly knew he had the upper hand. Even if Jack dived or ran, the spray from the GPMG would follow him.

  A burst of fire. Jack felt the rounds – not hitting his body, but whizzing only a couple of inches away from his shoulder. And they weren’t coming from the gimpy, but from behind. They caught the guard on the side of the head and he slumped into the back of the technical with the groan of a dying man.

  A deadly silence filled the air. Jack looked back. Siobhan was at the entrance to the building. Still pressed into her shoulder was one of the guards’ AK-47s. She lowered it, then joined him.

  ‘Nice shot,’ Jack said.

  Siobhan didn’t reply. They stood there for a moment, breathless, bloodied and shocked. And then the quiet was shattered by a terrible scream. A scream of pain. Without saying a word, they ran back into the building where they saw Caroline, her face contorted. She was on her side, clutching her thigh. Siobhan knelt by her and lifted up her robes. The bare leg was pissing blood. Jack had seen a lot of bad wounds in his time. This was one of them.

  ‘She needs treatment,’ Siobhan said abruptly.

  ‘Fuck it,’ Jack replied. ‘She doesn’t need the kind of treatment I want to give her and we don’t have time. We can make it back to the airfield if we leave now.’

  ‘Holy mother of God, Jack,’ Siobhan muttered, and she removed her jacket.

  ‘Get away from me!’ Caroline shouted, but Siobhan ignored the instruction. Instead she wrapped the sleeve of her jacket round the patient’s thigh.