Firefight

by Chris Ryan

  There was a large hallway at the end of which was a sweeping flight of stairs. To the right, off the hallway, was a large kitchen with a big open fireplace and a tiny electric stove - decades old - precariously connected to the house's ancient wiring. In the corner was a door which opened on to a flight of steps leading down into the basement. Will and Kennedy examined it, but the floor of the basement was knee-deep in water, so it was no place for them to camp out.

  On the other side of the hallway, opposite the kitchen, was a huge room that went the entire length of the house. There were two massive windows looking out, but aside from an old sofa and a table that had seen better days, there was nothing in there.

  The stairs led up to the first floor, which was divided into four rooms, each with large windows on the outside walls. A hallway divided them down the middle. They unanimously decided that the room on the north-eastern corner would be the most advantageous position for them to set up, as they would be able to maintain surveillance on the forested areas to the north and east. Offering a vast expanse of cover, these were the directions, they decided, from where Ahmed was most likely to come at them. The room was also opposite the bathroom - surprisingly small for the size of the house - which meant they didn't have to move far.

  By the time they had made their decision, Drew had arrived with a van full of equipment. They talked him through their plans and he nodded with approval. Only when they had finished did he speak. 'If I were him I'd try to disable us using gas - CS, something non-lethal if his sister is in the same room.'

  'You brought gas masks?'Will asked.

  Drew nodded.

  'Good.' He looked out of the window. 'We've only got a few hours of daylight left. Latifa Ahmed's being delivered to us in the morning, so let's get the motion sensors set up. Everything else we can do after nightfall.'

  Drew and Kennedy nodded and without another word they went to work.

  *

  The UK has been placed on its highest level of terrorism alert. The government's decision to raise the threat level to 'critical' reflects concern that a terror attack is imminent over the Christmas period. Shoppers are being warned by police to be extra vigilant and to report any suspicious packages or individuals . . .

  The television was on, as it always was. He sat in front of it, his back perfectly straight, a white vest covering the dark skin and well-defined muscles of his torso.

  He seldom ventured outside; the risk was too high. He needed to keep a low profile. They would be looking for him and he was determined that they wouldn't find him through his own negligence.

  During the day he kept the sound down on the television. He had no interest in the foolish banalities aimed at Western housewives with nothing better to do with their time. Really it was just to remind himself that there was a world outside this basement where he spent so many hours. But come evening and the news bulletins, he would listen carefully. He was listening carefully now. Listening and doing all he could to keep his breathing steady, despite what he heard.

  An Afghan woman has been arrested following anti-terror raids in London. The woman, 35-year-old Latifa Ahmed, was arrested late last night on suspicion of the commission, preparation and instigation of acts of terrorism. She is currently in custody at an undisclosed location.

  He stared at the television.

  He blinked, slowly.

  He looked at the grainy picture of his sister that filled the screen momentarily, before the news-reader moved on to another story.

  And then Faisal Ahmed's lips thinned.

  Latifa. In this country. Under arrest. For a moment he could not help feeling a sense of grudging respect for his enemy. This was clever. A way to flush him out. A lie, of course, but an elegant one. A chess move worthy of a grandmaster.

  It was clear, of course, that the news bulletin was there for his own benefit. No doubt it would be repeated on every channel for the rest of the day. If he bought a newspaper tomorrow morning - which he seldom did - Latifa's face would be staring out of it. In this strange world of the West, where politicians send messages to their people over the airwaves, this was like a clarion call in a coded language. A language that only he could understand.

  We have your sister, Faisal Ahmed, it said. And you know what will happen to her if you do not do as we say.

  He felt a surge of love for Latifa. She alone knew the whereabouts of his hiding places. She alone in all the world could lead them to him. And yet she had not, just as he had trusted. But what horrors would they have inflicted on her to make her talk? A sudden, rampant hate burned inside him. This was not Latifa's war. She had done nothing to deserve it. How dare they? How dare they?

  He took a deep breath. He had to remain calm if he was to do anything to help her. There would be further messages, of that he was sure. He just had to wait.

  All night he sat in front of the television, without eating or sleeping. All night and all the following morning. The news didn't change; just the bare facts - if that's what you wanted to call them - of Latifa's arrest.

  Only as the morning wore on was there something new.

  Footage. A police van driving up to a large house. A woman being let out of the back. Her head was covered and she seemed to be having difficulty walking.

  Faisal Ahmed suppressed a moment of blind rage. What had they done to her? What in the name of God had they done to her? They would pay. As Allah was his witness, they would pay for this!

  He scrutinised the pictures closely. The camera followed Latifa as she was escorted to the front steps, then panned back - almost artistically in a way that would never happen for an ordinary news report - to show the place where she was being held.

  He recognised it, of course. He recognised it just as they so obviously intended him to.

  Here she is, they were saying. Here she is, if you think you have the skill and the courage to rescue her.

  They knew he was planning something. They knew he would not just disappear into the night; not after what they had done. They knew he wanted revenge and they knew it would be bloody. Now they had played their best hand.

  The news reporter spoke over the images.

  Terror suspect Latifa Ahmed is being held under a control order while officers from Scotland Yard's anti-terror teams question her further.

  The words decoded themselves in his brain even as he heard them: Your sister is here. We have her. The only way you can save her is by coming to get her yourself.

  Instantly, Faisal Ahmed's brain started working overtime. Tactics. Scenarios. Latifa would be well guarded. Not so well guarded as to put him off a rescue attempt. But well guarded nevertheless.

  They would have done their homework.

  They would be waiting for him.

  They would be sure that there was no way they could fail.

  But there was a way. There had to be a way.

  Faisal Ahmed's eyes narrowed. He kept perfectly calm as he considered his next move.

  There was always a way.

  *

  The SAS team were waiting in the hallway of the house when Latifa arrived. She was walking - hobbling, really - and her hands were cuffed behind her back. A military cameraman was taking video footage of the outside of the house - obviously no real press were being allowed near - and Latifa was being accompanied by two grim-faced Met officers. The police officers handed her over, nodded a cursory greeting at Will as they gave him the keys to her handcuffs, then turned and left. Moments later the black prison van had gone, and there was nobody on the grounds other than Latifa and the three SAS men.

  'Your feet are getting better,' Will observed.

  Latifa didn't answer. She refused even to catch his eye.

  'Can you walk up the stairs?'

  She glanced in the direction of the staircase, then started walking towards it with obvious difficulty. Drew offered his arm, but she shrugged him off impatiently, so the three men simply watched helpless as, her hands still cuffed behind her back, she climbed the s
tairs. It took an age and was almost painful to watch.

  They followed her upstairs and ushered her into the room they had prepared.

  Latifa stopped at the door and looked around. 'This is to be my new prison?' she asked.

  'We've tried to make it as comfortable as we could,' Will replied, gruffly, aware that he sounded ridiculous. The room looked more like a military control centre than anything else. At each of the huge windows were two tripods, one holding a set of ordinary binoculars, the other with a set of nightvision binoculars for after sunset. Leaning against one wall was a line of Heckler & Koch UMPs as well as three MP5s. The UMPs were chambered for larger cartridges with more effective stopping power; the MP5s had a longer range. Horses for courses. There were neat little piles of ammunition stacked up, as well as an array of gas masks and halogen torches. In the middle of the room was a table, on which sat a black box. A length of flex trailed from it across the floor and through a small, newly bored hole in one of the outside walls. A second length led from the box and out through another hole in the wall by the door. There was a laptop connected to a mobile phone and in one corner there was a small television set.

  In another area a small gas stove and a kettle had been set up; next to these was a pile of provisions - tinned food, mainly, but also teabags, powdered milk, bars of chocolate and bottles of water. There were a couple of white, unmarked pill bottles containing ephedrine tablets - not unlike speed, regular issue in the Regiment and crucial if they found themselves getting tired during a watch.

  Everything they needed while they watched and waited.

  There were two beds in the room. 'That's yours,' Will told Latifa, pointing at one. Next to it was an armchair - old and threadbare, but the most comfortable one they could find. Latifa hobbled over to the chair and collapsed into it.

  Will turned to Drew. 'Go and lock the front door,' he said. 'Surveillance starts now.'

  Drew nodded and left the room.

  'What is that?' Latifa asked. She was pointing at the black box.

  Will walked to it and flicked a switch. 'An alarm,' he said. 'The house is surrounded by motion sensors. It's impossible to approach from any side without triggering them. The moment Ah -.' He paused. 'The moment your brother approaches, we'll know about it.'

  'Unless he lands on the roof,' Kennedy drawled. 'But we're thinking we'll probably notice a Black Hawk hovering above us.'

  Latifa looked contemptuously at him; he rolled his eyes, grabbed a UMP and took up position at one of the binoculars. Drew walked back in. 'All set,' he said.

  Will turned to Latifa. 'We don't leave this room,' he told her. 'Not unless you need to use the toilet. When that happens, all three of us accompany you across the hallway to the bathroom. One of us comes in with you, the others wait outside.'

  Latifa looked at him aghast. 'I refuse to—'

  'I'm sorry, Latifa. We don't like it any more than you do, but there's no argument. There's a second alarm box outside the bathroom, so he won't catch us by surprise while you're -' His voice trailed off and he looked over to the second bed. 'One of us will sleep while the other two keep watch. If the buzzer sounds, you'll be held at gunpoint by one of us. We don't want to hurt you, and we don't intend to, but if your brother sees you in that kind of danger it will make him hesitate. The other two will cover the windows and the door. Speaking of which—'Will pulled a length of string from around his neck on which hung a key. He went to the door, closed it firmly, then locked it from the inside.

  'Make yourself comfortable, Latifa,' he said. 'We could be here for some time.'

  'I would be more comfortable,' she said, 'if you were to remove these handcuffs.'

  Will shook his head. 'I'm sorry,' he replied. 'I can't do that. I'll remove them at mealtimes, but after that they go back on.' Latifa turned her head away and he could see that she was holding back tears. 'It's not for much longer, Latifa,' he said, quietly. 'Your brother will be here soon.'

  He looked out of the window to the dense forest beyond. It was stupid, but he couldn't get the image out of his head of Ahmed staring back at him. There were bigger things at stake here, Will knew that;but right then he had the unerring sensation that it was him against Ahmed. Man on man. A battle of wits, as well as strength.

  Will breathed deeply, then turned back to Latifa.

  'Your brother will be here very soon,' he said.

  FOURTEEN

  Faisal Ahmed was pleased it was cold. It meant he could wear a woollen hat - and so disguise his features to an extent - without attracting attention.

  What would have attracted more attention, of course, was the contents of his rucksack. An MP5 with a laser-sight attachment, NV goggles and telescope, a small pouch of explosives and various other bits of kit that he had carefully packed before leaving his safe house, no doubt never to return. He had used a couple of notes from his wallet full of cash to buy a ticket and now he was sitting by the window as the train sped towards King's Cross. His rucksack was on the shelf above him, along with the suitcases and laptop bags of the other passengers on this crowded service. Next to him, a fat man drank noisily from a beer can, despite the fact it was only noon. As the train slowed down into a station, he stood up and pulled his bag from the shelf where it had been nestled next to Ahmed's.

  His rucksack looked precarious for a moment, as if it might fall. Ahmed sprang up, knocking the fat man out of the way.

  'What the fuck?' the fat man spat.

  Ahmed steadied the rucksack, then turned to look at him. The man seemed furious, red-faced. He pushed his great bulk against Ahmed's body, clearly spoiling for a fight. But Ahmed did not want a fight. Not here. He bowed his head. 'I apologise,' he said, meekly. 'That was extremely rude of me.'

  The fat man huffed at him, but the wind had been taken out of his sails by Ahmed's swift apology. He grabbed his bag and waddled to the door.

  At King's Cross Ahmed made sure he was always in the middle of the crowd as he made his way to the underground and bought himself a ticket to Waterloo. Once there, he consulted the timetables. Of course, he would not be taking a train to the station nearest the house; he would get within a certain radius and walk the rest. Nor would he take a direct route. It needed to be circuitous, to give him a better chance of shaking off any surveillance.

  He worked out his route and memorised it instantly. It was good. It would get him there at eight o'clock that evening. That meant he would be approaching under cover of night. It would take three or four hours to get there; then he would be able to work out a strategy.

  Keeping his head facing down towards the ground so that he avoided the glare of any CCTV, he bought himself a ticket. The first train was already waiting on the platform, so he found the emptiest carriage, took a seat and waited for it to move away.

  *

  The day passed slowly.

  Latifa did not speak a word and the SAS men were similarly silent. The television was on in the corner, but the sound was turned down and none of them were really paying attention to the flicker of images. The three soldiers wore their gas masks, but Latifa had refused hers and nothing they could say could persuade her otherwise. Will had taken first watch with Drew, while Kennedy slept. At lunchtime the men had eaten tins of stew heated on the stove; Latifa refused it, choosing to accept only a few sips of water. At about three o'clock, she asked to use the toilet. Will nodded, woke Drew who was by now sleeping on the bed, and the three of them - UMPs at the ready - escorted her to the bathroom. Kennedy and Drew stood guard in the hallway, while Will took her inside. He kept his back to her while she did what she needed to do. When he heard the flushing of the chain he turned around. Clearly humiliated by the circumstances, she would not meet his eye.