Firefight

by Chris Ryan

  'That's right.'

  She fell silent for a moment. 'It is exactly what the Taliban wanted,' she said, finally. 'At least, it is exactly what the men holding me wanted. One of them, I think, had a personal argument with him. They too believed that my brother had been in contact with me. That is why they were torturing me - so that I would give him up. But I never did.'

  Will narrowed his eyes. 'Thousands of people, Latifa,' he said, somewhat impatiently. 'Thousands of people could die if your brother goes through with his terrorist strike.'

  'So you tell me,' Latifa replied. 'But I do not believe it. My brother is many things, but he is not a terrorist.'

  'We have proof, Latifa.'

  'You may show me all the proof you wish, Will Jackson. I will still not believe it.'

  Will took a deep breath in an effort to control a sudden wave of anger. 'It seems to me,' he said, curtly, 'that perhaps you don't know your brother as well as you think. Faisal Ahmed is a terrorist. I have better reason to know than most.'

  'How so?' the woman on the bed asked, weakly.

  Will fought the urge to spit it out. Latifa's denial of her brother's true nature angered him. He turned away. Fuck it. For all he cared Pankhurst could torture the truth out of her when they got back - one way or another, she would give them any information she had.

  But as he approached his seat he stopped. Something made him spin round and stride back up to her. Before he knew it, the words were tumbling out of his mouth. 'I know,' he hissed at her, 'because Faisal Ahmed planted the bomb that killed my family. A mother and a daughter. So don't try and tell me that bastard was whiter than white, because I've seen the evidence and I'm not fucking buying it!'

  His outburst seemed to echo around the cabin.

  He and Latifa stared at each other and something seemed to crackle between them. Will heard himself breathing heavily, trying to calm himself with great gulps of air.

  Finally Latifa spoke. 'I am sorry for the death of your family,' she said, meekly. 'When I was young I saw my mother and father murdered in front of me. I know something of how you feel. Faisal too, he saw -'

  'Forget the excuses,' Will snapped. 'Do you know where your brother is or not?'

  Latifa stared at him, but her lips remained firmly shut.

  'Fine,' Will retorted to her meaningful silence. 'In case you're interested, it's not just the British government who want to find your brother. It's the CIA too and they're not exactly well known for being shy and retiring about stuff like this. Trust me - you won't like the way they get people to tell them the things they want to know. But it's your choice.'

  'You are right,' Latifa said, firmly. 'It is my own choice. Your family meant everything to you, I can see that. So perhaps you will understand why it is that I cannot betray my brother, no matter what it is that he has done.'

  Will felt his lips thinning.

  'You have come a long way to rescue me,' Latifa said,'and for that I am more grateful than I can tell you. But you have seen what the Taliban did to me; you have seen the wicked things they inflicted upon my body. Now you, too, are threatening to try and extract the same information out of me. It makes you no better than them.'

  She winced, as though a sudden bolt of pain had run through her and Will noticed that she shifted her bandaged feet. She breathed heavily for a moment before speaking again.

  'And what is it, I wonder,' she asked, her voice a curious mixture of bemusement and contempt, 'that makes you think that if the Taliban cannot torture Faisal's whereabouts out of me, with their viciousness and their lack of regard for human life or suffering, the British or the Americans can?'

  Will looked at her face. Despite her weakness, despite her fever, despite everything that she had gone through, it carried an expression of indomitable determination. In that instant, he knew that the Afghan woman lying before him was not messing around.

  No matter what he had done, she would sooner die than betray her brother. Faisal Ahmed could kill thousands - millions - and still she would keep her own counsel.

  If she knew where he was, she would never, ever tell them.

  'I think I would like to sleep now,' she whispered; and as she spoke, her eyes closed.

  Will stood there for a minute, not knowing what to do or what to say. Then he kicked his heels around, found a sleeping tablet and swallowed it hungrily.

  It was a long flight back to Brize Norton and the last thing he wanted was to be awake with the thoughts that were now swimming around in his confused and angry head.

  TWELVE

  Will awoke suddenly.

  His body was aching, but his mind was instantly aware. There was a change in the sound of the engines, a more high-pitched whine that suggested they were losing altitude. He looked around him. Latifa was asleep, but Drew and Kennedy had woken and were looking out of the window.

  'Something's up,' Kennedy said.

  'What do you mean?'

  'Look at the time.'

  Will glanced at his watch. Three in the morning, Afghanistan time. They should have landed at Brize Norton hours ago.

  'Care to tell us what's going on?' Drew asked Will, pointedly.

  'Fucked if I know,' Will muttered. He turned around and headed up to the flight deck, where he banged on the door of the cockpit. 'What's going on?' he shouted. 'Where the hell are we?'

  The door clicked open and the flight lieutenant of the plane appeared. 'Change of course,' he told Will.

  'What the hell do you mean?' Will asked him, completely confused.

  'We got our orders a few hours ago. We've been redirected.'

  'Where to?'

  'Poland.'

  Will blinked. 'Poland? What the hell are we doing in Poland?'

  'We were hoping you could tell us,' the flight lieutenant said, pointedly. 'I think it's more likely something to do with your cargo than ours, don't you?'

  Will swore under his breath, then strode back to be with the others.

  'Any info?' Kennedy asked, tersely.

  Will told them the news and both SAS men looked baffled. 'What are we doing landing in Poland?' Drew asked.

  'I don't know,' Will replied, quietly, but in truth he had an idea. He remembered his conversation with Lowther Pankhurst and Don Priestley, about how they had extracted the information about Faisal Ahmed in the first place. He glanced over at Latifa, still slumbering.

  Sleep well, he thought to himself. It won't last for long.

  They strapped themselves in and prepared for landing.

  As soon as the aircraft came to a halt, Will was up. A flight of steps had been moved to the side of the plane and he bounded down them into the icy night air. The snow here was thicker than it had been in the Stan and it was blowing a blizzard - the plane had been lucky to land at all. The airfield was not busy, but there were a couple of other planes parked up and a small convoy of military trucks were waiting on the tarmac. Grim-faced soldiers, all heavily armed, were milling around; and standing by one of the trucks was a solitary figure. He wore a heavy black coat and held a black umbrella, though it didn't do much good as the snow was drifting sideways against his clothes. He looked quite out of place against all the military men in their camouflage fatigues.

  It was only when Will was a good deal closer that he realised who it was.

  'Good morning, Will,' Lowther Pankhurst said, as blandly as if he were greeting someone in the office on a Monday morning. He turned to a couple of soldiers standing nearby. 'Get the woman down,' he ordered.

  'Yes, sir,' the soldiers repeated in unison. Will detected their American accents.

  'What the hell's going on?' he asked Pankhurst, angrily. 'What are you doing here? What are any of us doing here?'

  'Please, Will,' Pankhurst said, mildly. 'Calm down.'

  'Don't tell me to calm down!' he raged. 'I've just been through hell to get this woman. I want to know what you're doing with her. Why weren't we warned about this?'

  'We're going to ask her a few questions. That
was always the plan, wasn't it?'

  'In Poland?'

  'Yes, Will. In Poland.'

  'Why?'

  'I think you know why, Will.'

  Pankhurst was right. In the last thirty seconds he had confirmed all his suspicions. 'Black camp?' he asked.

  Pankhurst's face twitched slightly. 'Really, Will, it's not a term I'm particularly comfortable with. But yes, there are certain resources available to us here that are not available to us back home. It's one of Don Priestley's little operations and he's kindly given us access. It really is amazing how skilful they are here.'

  Will felt sick. Despite everything he knew about Latifa Ahmed, he had seen what the Taliban had done to her. He had seen what she had gone through. Talk about out of the frying pan and into the fucking fire.

  'You're wasting your time,' he told Pankhurst, quietly.

  'I beg your pardon?'

  'I said you're wasting your time.'

  'I sincerely hope not, Will,' Pankhurst said, pointedly. 'I understand you're one man down. It would be a terrible tragedy if nothing came of your mission.'

  'You're lucky we're not four men down.'

  'We're all lucky you're not four men down, Will. Ahmed could strike at any moment - the intelligence chatter has gone off the scale. You did well to find the woman and bring her back safely. But you needn't worry about it any more. We'll be taking care of things from here on in.'

  Pankhurst turned his back on Will.

  'She won't talk,' the SAS man called after the Director General. 'I've already interrogated her. I think she knows something about Ahmed's location, but I'm telling you, there's no way on God's earth that you'll make her give him up!'

  Pankhurst stopped, paused a moment, then turned back to look at Will. 'I think, perhaps, you underestimate just how persuasive these people can be.'

  Will sneered at him. 'Actually,' he said, 'I don't think I do. I think you underestimate just how much Latifa Ahmed has been through. The Taliban wanted Ahmed's location, too, and they did things to that woman that you couldn't even imagine.'

  A mock frown furrowed Pankhurst's brow. 'I do hope, Will, that you haven't become too emotionally involved in this mission.'

  'Don't give me that crap, Pankhurst. I'm here because I'm emotionally involved. When I found Latifa Ahmed, she wasn't much more than a few hours from being dead. Push her too hard and you'll kill her yourself and anything she knows will die with her.'

  But as he spoke, he noticed that Pankhurst was looking beyond him. Will turned back to see Latifa's stretcher bed being carried off the plane. In a moment of madness he started to calculate his chances of taking down the men who were carrying her. But of course, it would be idiotic; even if he managed it, what would he do then? Besides, he had his orders. And wasn't he meant to despise Latifa Ahmed anyway?

  'You can travel with me, if you like, Will,' Pankhurst interrupted his thoughts, quietly. 'Or you can travel with your unit. Either way, I wouldn't recommend staying here. It's terribly cold and we really don't know how long this is going to take.'

  *

  The convoy trundled slowly through the snow and the gloom. Latifa had been loaded into a separate truck along with a couple of guys who said they were medics but who, Will knew, would soon be involved in something that they surely never expected when they underwent their medical training. Will had absolutely no idea where they were and began to lose his bearings as the truck wove its way down a series of winding lanes. There were no houses, no signs of life. This truly was the middle of nowhere.

  He had chosen to travel with Drew and Kennedy, but was beginning to wish he hadn't. Clearly they didn't believe Will when he said he'd had no idea that they were going to be re-routed, and they were making their displeasure felt by a stern silence that was, Will couldn't help thinking, more suited to a couple of teenage girls than two burly Regiment soldiers. He felt he owed them an explanation.

  'They're taking her to a black camp,' he said, darkly. 'They want to torture information out of her. They can't do it in England, so they have these places—'

  'Yeah, thanks Einstein,' Kennedy interrupted. 'We know what a black camp is.'

  'I didn't know about this,' Will reiterated.

  'Whatever,' Kennedy said, flatly. 'They'd better go easy on her, though. She's been pretty well fucked-up. Slap her on the arse and she'll probably drop dead.'

  'Yeah, maybe,' Will replied. He wasn't too sure.

  After about an hour of driving, they came to a halt and de-bussed. Will looked around. There was not much here - just a small hillock, covered with thick snow, in the side of which was a concrete door. Yellow light flooded from it. The truck carrying Latifa opened up and the SAS men watched as the woman they had rescued was stretchered down and carried through the door.

  Pankhurst had joined the team and he ushered them in with a sweeping gesture as though they were about to enter a decent restaurant. 'Shall we?'

  They found themselves filing down a flight of steps and along a dim underground corridor. As they walked, Will peered over at Latifa's bed. She seemed drowsy, but aware. Their eyes met and in that moment he felt her fear. She could tell what was coming - of that he could be sure.

  Nobody spoke as the sound of their footsteps echoed down the corridor.

  Suddenly the soldiers pushing Latifa's stretcher bed came to a halt. There were two doors - they opened one of them, took her in and shut the door behind them. Will, Pankhurst, Drew and Kennedy were left in the corridor. Pankhurst turned to Drew and Kennedy. 'You two,' he said, 'there's a room down there on the left. You can wait for us there.'

  They looked at each other a bit uneasily, but even Kennedy seemed reluctant to offer one of his usual sarcastic ripostes. They stepped aside and followed their instructions, while Pankhurst spoke to Will. 'I want you in on this, Will,' he said, quietly.

  'Why?' asked Will, sickened at the thought of what he was about to witness. Shooting a Taliban guard in the head was one thing; watching his own side torture a defenceless woman was quite another and he wasn't sure he wanted to get involved.

  'Because,' Pankhurst said slowly, not taking his eyes from Will's, 'if she gives us Ahmed's location, I think it's a good idea that you hear it directly. You'll want to go after him yourself, won't you?'

  Will felt his lips curl. Yet again, Pankhurst was manipulating him; yet again, the Director General had read him well.

  'All right,' he muttered. 'Let's get it over with.' They walked through the adjoining door.

  The room in which Will found himself had three concrete walls. The fourth wall was a huge sheet of glass looking on to the next room and he could tell from the dark sheen that it was one-way. A small loudspeaker was embedded into one of the concrete walls, through which they could hear everything that was going on. Will watched what was happening in silence.

  Latifa had been wheeled into the room by the soldiers, who swiftly left. Waiting for her were two other men, both in white coats. One of them - a red-haired man with round spectacles and a grim expression - gave Latifa a cursory examination. He looked at her bandaged feet. Even from here Will could tell that blood from the wounds had started to saturate them, but the man - presumably a doctor of some kind - did not seem to think it was worthwhile replacing them. Using his thumb he pulled down her lower eyelid, before talking to his colleague.