‘They’re in,’ said Yokely in Button’s headset. ‘It’ll soon be over.’
Button swallowed. Her mouth had gone dry and she reached for a bottle of Evian water, unscrewed the top and drank from it, her eyes never leaving the screen.
Shepherd reached the top of the stairs. He heard running feet and a light bounced along the wall by his head. He looked to his left. There was a figure there with a flashlight. He couldn’t make out the features of the man but he figured the SEALs wouldn’t be using flashlights. He fired and the flashlight wobbled and he fired again and the light fell. There was a dull thud and the clatter of a weapon hitting the ground. Shepherd ran forward and picked up the torch. He played the beam over the floor and exhaled only when he saw the Taliban fighter sprawled on the ground, bleeding from the chest and throat. The dead man had a grey and white checked scarf around his neck and Shepherd pulled it from him and handed it to Raj. ‘Use that to bandage your leg,’ he said.
As Raj tended to his wound, Shepherd bent down and pulled the magazine from the dead fighter’s Kalashnikov. He heard footsteps to his left and swung up the torch. The beam highlighted another robed fighter, his mouth open in surprise, an AK-47 across his chest. Shepherd fired one-handed, catching the man in the dead centre of the chest with a single shot. The man fell to the floor.
Shepherd shone the torch around, trying to get his bearings. As he turned, two men in desert camouflage fatigues with bulbous night vision goggles below their Kevlar helmets came around a corner. Shepherd dropped the Kalashnikov and shone the torch at his own face. ‘Friendly, friendly!’ he shouted, then held up his hands.
‘Shepherd?’ shouted one of the men.
Shepherd felt a surge of relief wash over him. ‘Yes!’ he shouted. He gestured at Raj. ‘He’s a Brit too.’
The two SEALs moved along the corridor, their weapons still aimed at Shepherd’s chest. ‘Are you injured?’ asked one.
‘I’m OK. Raj has got a cut leg.’
‘Where were you?’ asked the SEAL.
Shepherd pointed at the stairs. ‘Basement,’ he said. ‘There’s three dead hostiles down there.’
‘Nice,’ said the SEAL, nodding his approval.
‘Sierra Five, we have Shepherd and Manraj here, both hale and hearty,’ said the SEAL, presumably into his comms. Shepherd couldn’t hear what was being said in reply, but the SEAL nodded. ‘Sierra Five, roger that.’ The SEAL nodded at Shepherd. ‘We’re to take you out the back way,’ he said. ‘I’m Sal Garcia.’ He gestured at his companion. ‘The quiet one is Julio Morales. Stay close. And kill that flashlight.’
Shepherd switched off the torch. From the front of the house they heard a Kalashnikov being fired followed by suppressed Heckler fire and then silence. Shepherd picked up the Kalashnikov, took Raj by the arm, and followed Garcia and Morales down the corridor.
They reached the end and turned left, then stepped through a wooden door and found themselves outside, under the stars.
‘Sierra Five, we’re outside,’ said Garcia.
‘Did you hear that, Charlotte?’ said Yokely. Button was staring at the screen, leaning forward so that her face was only inches from the four white figures that had emerged from the rear of the house. They all looked the same, though only three appeared to be carrying weapons.
‘I see it, Richard,’ said Button.
‘Home stretch now,’ he said. ‘They’re OK.’
‘That’s brilliant, Richard. Absolutely brilliant.’ She looked over at Singh. He was beaming and he punched the air with a clenched fist.
There was a staircase to the left and Drake pointed at it, then at Peterson and Sanders. They nodded and headed up the stairs, keeping close to the wall. A door opened and a fighter appeared with a flashlight. Drake shot him in the face, twice, and the man fell back and the flashlight fell to the ground and winked out.
Drake moved down the corridor, keeping low. Croft was behind him to the left, and Woody to the right. Henderson had stayed by the main door just in case more fighters came from outside. There was a door to the left and Drake opened it, then pushed it wide and stepped to the side, covering the left of the room, Croft covered the right, then stepped into the room in a crouch.
Drake saw two figures standing against the wall and he began to squeeze his trigger, but he realised they were standing with their hands in the air. ‘On your knees!’ he barked. ‘On your knees, now!’
The two men obeyed and Drake moved closer. Croft had his weapon trained on the man on the right and Woody kept his carbine aimed at the one on the left. The man on the right was Akram Al-Farouq. Drake gestured at him with his weapon. ‘That’s Al-Farouq, cuff him,’ he said to Croft. Croft pulled a set of plastic ties from his harness. Drake stepped forward and brought the butt of his carbine down on the other man’s head and he dropped face forward on to the floor without a sound.
Croft finished binding Al-Farouq’s wrists and hauled him to his feet.
‘Right,’ said Drake. ‘Time to get the hell out of Dodge.’
Garcia put a hand on Shepherd’s shoulder. ‘We’re going to RV at the front of the building,’ he said. ‘The area seems secure now but stick close to the wall.’
Shepherd nodded.
‘I’ll go first, then you, then Raj. Julio will bring up the rear.’
‘All good,’ said Shepherd. He took a quick look at Raj. His eyes were closed and Shepherd shook him gently. ‘I’m OK,’ he said, but Shepherd could hear the uncertainty in his voice. The scarf that he’d tied around his injured leg glistened blackly with blood. ‘Not long now, Raj,’ said Shepherd. ‘Stick with me.’ Raj nodded.
Garcia took a quick look around, then started moving, crouched over his carbine. Shepherd followed, his finger outside the trigger guard of the Kalashnikov. They moved in a crouch. Small stones pressed into the soles of Shepherd’s bare feet but he was barely aware of the discomfort. Adrenalin was coursing through his bloodstream and his body’s endorphins were acting as natural painkillers, taking the edge off the damage that Al-Farouq had done to his shins in the basement.
A round thwacked into the wall above Shepherd’s head and flecks of brick pricked his skin. There was a loud pop off to his right, coming from a window of the nearest house. Two more rounds hit the wall, slightly lower, but Shepherd had already ducked and turned and they missed him by more than a foot. Raj screamed and fell to the ground but Shepherd ignored him and stayed totally focused on the window.
‘Where did that come from?’ asked Garcia.
‘Top right window,’ said Shepherd. As he spoke a figure appeared and he let loose two quick shots that thwacked into the brickwork above the window. There was just enough moonlight for him to see that he’d missed.
‘Julio,’ shouted Garcia.
‘I’m on it,’ said Morales. He sighted his M320 and let loose a 40mm grenade that flew off with a whoosh and headed straight for the window, a plume of grey smoke behind it. The grenade went through dead centre and a second later the room exploded in a ball of flame.
Shepherd bent down and helped Raj to his feet. Raj was shaking uncontrollably. He was in shock, but Shepherd knew there was nothing he could do just then. He squeezed Raj’s arm. ‘Keep it together, Raj. We’re going to get out of this, I swear.’
They started moving again, reached the corner of the building and turned left. There was another SEAL there, standing guard at the door. He turned to look at them and raised a hand.
There was a burst of suppressed fire from inside the house and the SEAL standing guard whirled around and peered through the doorway. Garcia jogged over to join him.
Raj leaned against the wall and bent down. He was panting like a sick dog. Shepherd put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Slow breaths,’ he said. ‘You’re hyperventilating. It’s the adrenalin. Just breathe slow and easy. We’re almost home.’
Raj nodded. ‘I can’t get any air,’ he panted. ‘It’s like my chest is too tight.’
‘I understand. Just slow it down, and ta
ke long, deep breaths.’
Raj nodded again and tried to do as he’d been told.
Two SEALs came out of the main door, manhandling a bearded man in a dishdasha. It was Al-Farouq, Shepherd realised. His hands were tied behind his back and he kept his head down.
Three more SEALs emerged. Garcia spoke to them and all four headed over to Shepherd. One of the SEALs lifted up his night vision goggles to reveal his face. Shepherd recognised him immediately. Adam Croft. ‘Bloody hell, you’re a sight for sore eyes,’ said Shepherd. ‘Long time no see.’
‘The powers that be thought it might be helpful if you saw a friendly face,’ said Croft. He gestured at Henderson. ‘Remember Guy?’
Henderson removed his night vision goggles.
‘Sure,’ said Shepherd. He bumped fists with Henderson. ‘What happens now?’ he asked Croft.
‘We’ve got quads to get us to the border,’ said Croft. ‘Then we’ll be airlifted back to Basra.’
Shepherd sighed. ‘It can’t be soon enough,’ he said.
Croft nodded at the man to his left. ‘This is Lieutenant Jake Drake, he’s in charge.’ The lieutenant was an inch or two shorter than Shepherd with a bodybuilder’s shoulders.
‘Thanks for this, Lieutenant,’ said Shepherd.
‘Always happy to lend our British cousins a helping hand,’ said Drake.
‘Or drag their nuts out of the fire,’ said Croft. He grinned. ‘Seeing as how you are no longer in the SAS, Dan, we’re treating you as a Civilian Under Naval Training. Message received?’
Shepherd laughed, figuring the SEALs had earned the right to take the piss. ‘Adam, mate, call me what the hell you want, I’m just glad you’re here.’
Drake patted him on the back. ‘Let’s move,’ he said. ‘Keep the Kalashnikov, just remember that anyone in desert fatigues is a friendly.’
Croft removed a pair of night vision goggles from a pouch on his harness and helped Shepherd put them on.
Henderson had a pair for Raj. ‘Thank you,’ gasped Raj.
‘Thank us when we’re out of here,’ said Henderson. He looked over at Drake and nodded.
‘Right. Back to the quads,’ said Drake. ‘Julio, Sal, Monster, you take the rear and cover us if we need it. Let’s go!’
Henderson kept a hold of Raj’s arm as they jogged away from the house, and Croft stayed close to Shepherd. Drake was on the left and Woody and Peterson were on the right.
They had gone about fifty feet when a Kalashnikov went off behind them but Morales let loose a short burst with his suppressed Heckler and the Kalashnikov fell silent.
They jogged across the track and over to the clump of rocks and the quads. Croft showed Shepherd to the rear-facing seat on his quad and Henderson did the same with Raj. There was a footrest that kept his feet away from the rear wheels and a small backrest. It wasn’t the most comfortable of rides but it would do the job. One by one the engines burst into life, then they sped across the desert, heading west. Shepherd kept his Kalashnikov at the ready as they drove away from the buildings, but there was no activity. He began to relax, finally able to believe that he was safe.
Button stared at the screen. She’d watched as the white figures had left the house and moved out of view. She’d counted eleven figures. Eight SEALs and presumably Shepherd, Raj and Al-Farouq.
‘Charlotte, are you online?’ asked Yokely in her ear.
‘I’m here, Richard.’
‘No casualties on our side, I’m happy to say,’ said Yokely. ‘And we have Al-Farouq in the bag.’
‘That’s brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.’
‘There’s a Chinook on the way. We’ll pick them up on the Pakistan side of the border and process them at Basra before putting them on planes back to London.’
‘I owe you, Richard.’
‘No, getting Al-Farouq in the bag makes us even,’ said Yokely. ‘We’re all square. I don’t know how you got the location, Charlotte, and I’m guessing I don’t want to know, but you saved the day back there.’
‘That’s sweet of you to say so,’ said Button. ‘You give Spider my best.’
‘I’ll be sure to do that.’
Yokely went offline and Button sat back and took off her headset. The screen showing the buildings in Peshawar flickered and then went blank. Singh sat back in his seat and cracked his knuckles. ‘I don’t know about you, Amar, but I need a drink,’ said Button. ‘A big one.’
The Chinook touched down gently, the massive twin rotors kicking up a dust storm as it settled on the ground. The rear ramp came down and Croft helped Shepherd out of his seat. Two other SEALs were supporting Raj. ‘Where are we?’ asked Raj.
‘Basra airfield,’ said Shepherd. ‘Not far from Kabul. We can fly back from here to the UK.’
‘When?’
‘It won’t be long,’ said Shepherd. ‘Let me talk to Charlie, we can probably get on a flight later today. But you need to get a shower and some decent food down you. After they’ve taken a look at your leg.’
Drake patted Raj on the shoulder. ‘We’ll get a medic to check you out,’ he said.
‘I just want to get home,’ said Raj.
‘You and me both,’ said Shepherd.
He jumped down off the ramp and on to the ground, then turned and helped Raj down. The rotors slowed and the turbine noise dropped to a low whine.
‘Is that what passes for operational gear in the SAS these days?’ said a soft Southern drawl behind him.
Shepherd turned and grinned when he saw Richard Yokely walking towards the Chinook. ‘I might have known you’d be involved somehow,’ he said.
Yokely was wearing desert camouflage fatigues and a Kevlar vest over his regular clothes and his normally gleaming tasselled shoes were covered with a thick layer of dust. He shook hands with Shepherd, then gave him a hearty bear hug. ‘I promised the lovely Charlotte I’d get you back in one piece. She moved heaven and earth for you.’
‘I’m glad she did,’ Shepherd said. Two medics appeared with a stretcher. They placed it on the ground and helped Raj on to it. His eyes closed as soon he lay down and one of the medics began checking his vital signs as the other ripped his trousers open and went to work on the injured leg.
Drake and Croft both flashed salutes and Yokely returned them. ‘Well done, guys,’ he said. ‘Any casualties?’
‘None, sir,’ said Drake.
‘Outstanding,’ said Yokely.
He looked inside the Chinook and saw two SEALs manhandling a clearly disoriented Akram Al-Farouq out of his seat. ‘He give you any problems?’
Drake shook his head. ‘Good as gold,’ he said.
The SEALs kept a grip on Al-Farouq’s arms as they stepped off the Chinook ramp. They marched him over to Yokely.
‘Pleasure to meet you, Mr Al-Farouq,’ said Yokely. ‘I’ve got an orange jumpsuit that I hope is your size, and a whole load of questions that I’m looking forward to asking you.’ He gestured at a waiting Gulfstream jet. ‘But not here, obviously.’ Yokely nodded at Drake. ‘Load him on to the plane, will you?’
‘Pleasure,’ said Drake.
‘Hooyah,’ grunted Croft.
Yokely and Shepherd watched as Al-Farouq was taken over to the jet.
‘What happens to him now?’ asked Shepherd.
Yokely grinned. ‘Best you don’t know,’ he said. ‘How was it?’
Shepherd shrugged. ‘He caused me a lot of pain, Richard.’
‘Do you want a few minutes with him? Mano a mano?’
Shepherd looked over at Al-Farouq. He was being taken up the stairs into the Gulfstream, his shoulders hunched, a beaten man. Shepherd could only imagine the horrors that lay ahead for him, and there would be no hope of rescue. At the very least he’d spend the rest of his life in a metal box a few metres square with only an occasional glimpse of the sky. He shook his head. ‘Nah,’ he said. ‘I’m good.’
If you enjoy the Spider Shepherd series, why not read Stephen Leather’s
Jack Nightingale sup
ernatural thriller series
Book One
NIGHTFALL
‘You’re going to hell, Jack Nightingale’: They are words that ended his career as a police negotiator. Now Jack’s a struggling private detective – and the chilling words come back to haunt him.
When Jack inherits a mansion with a priceless library from a man who claims to be his father, it comes with a warning. That Nightingale’s soul was sold at birth and a devil will come to claim it on his thirty-third birthday – just three weeks away. And that if he doesn’t find a way out he’ll be damned in hell for eternity.
Read an extract from the book here
Book Two
MIDNIGHT
Jack Nightingale needs to save a soul – his sister’s. But to save her he has to find her and they’ve been separated since birth. When everyone Jack talks to about his sister dies horribly, he realises that someone, or something, is determined to keep them apart. If he’s going to save his sister, he’s going to have to negotiate with the forces of darkness. And first Jack must ask himself the question: is every soul worth saving?
Read an extract from the book here
Book Three
NIGHTMARE
Jack Nightingale’s life changed forever on the day he failed to stop a young girl throwing herself to her death. Ever since, he’s been haunted by thoughts that he could have done more to save her. Now her cries for help are louder than ever. Is she trapped in eternal torment? Can Nightingale put things right? Or are the forces of darkness torturing and deceiving him in order to gain the ultimate prize – his soul?
Read an extract from the book here
Book Four
NIGHTSHADE
A farmer walks into a school and shoots eight children dead before turning the gun on himself. But when the perpetrator’s brother approaches Nightingale, he is adamant that his brother was set up.
Spider Shepherd 11 - White Lies Page 34
