by Chris Ryan
Stepping back into the kitchen, he fitted the charge into the fuse box, before spraying it with the builder's foam. The foam served two purposes: it held the detonator fast and when the time came it would muffle the sound.
Ahmed slung his rucksack back over his shoulders and extinguished the torch. He left the kitchen and quietly climbed the stairs at the end of the hallway.
He could see the room in which they had set up. Latifa would be in there, he realised; it was a struggle for him not to burst in, all guns blazing. But that would be foolish. Even though they would not be expecting him, they would be heavily armed and at the moment he did not know how many of them there were. No doubt he would be able to kill a number of them, but he risked being shot himself.
Patience, he told himself. Patience.
He crept across the hallway and into a room that was at the opposite corner of the house. It was very dark in here and again he allowed himself a little light from his torch. There was something he needed to locate. He found it quickly enough: a wire coming into the house just by the window. Looking through the window itself, he verified that it was indeed what he expected it to be: the wire connecting the motion sensor to whatever alarm system they had set up. It would be two-core flex. If he cut through either the live or the neutral it would disable the sensor while leaving a small snip in the flex that you would only see if you were looking for it. From his bag he removed a pair of wire cutters and in a second it was done.
Desperately slowly, as quietly as he could, Faisal Ahmed unscrewed the latch of the window on the wall opposite the door, and slid it open. He climbed outside, balanced himself precariously on the window ledge, and then slid the frame shut again.
With the motion sensor disabled, he could move freely, but it was precarious on the ledge and it took all his strength to haul himself up on to the slates of the roof. Once there, however, he worked quickly. The house was old and had not been well cared for, so the slates came off easily. He removed seven or eight, resting them in the guttering, then pulled a knife from his pocket and started scoring away at the thin layer of wood beneath. It took about ten minutes to make a hole big enough for him to squeeze through. The rucksack went first, then he gently lowered himself down, landing nimbly with his feet firmly on the sturdy joists of the attic.
It was freezing cold in the roof, but Ahmed put that from his mind. He crept to the area of the attic that covered the room in which Latifa was being held, then pulled out the doctor's stethoscope from his rucksack before lying down on his front across the joists. Gently, he pulled some of the thin layer of insulation away from the floor, laid the chestpiece against the plasterboard, then attached the earpieces to his ear.
Silence.
That was OK. It was to be expected. He'd done enough surveillance of his own to realise that it was long, silent work. But when someone spoke, he would hear. When they moved, he would know. In twenty-four hours' time, the 'false alarm' that he had engineered by breaking the cat's legs would be forgotten and he would know their routines and practices.
He would know just when to make his move.
*
The third day dawned.
'Morning campers!' Kennedy announced brightly as he shook Will awake.
Will sat up, groggily.
'Come on, shit-for-brains,' Kennedy continued. 'I need some kip.'
'All right, all right,' Will told him. He walked over to the food stash and peeled himself a couple of bananas. Latifa was drowsing in the chair, but her eyes flickered open as he looked at her.
'Daytime?' she asked.
'Daytime.'
'I would like to use the bathroom.'
Will nodded. 'You know the drill.' He turned to Drew and Kennedy. 'Come on, you two.'
Kennedy breathed out in frustration. 'What is it with me and women?' he asked no one in particular. 'As soon as I lie down, they say they need a piss. And when we get back, the moment's lost.'
*
Faisal Ahmed heard every word clearly. It had filled him with a wild surge of joy to hear his sister's voice; but it was replaced by sudden anger at the sound of that man speaking so disrespectfully in front of her.
He could not dwell on it, though. Not now.
Their conversation had told him there were four of them, including Latifa, and now his stethoscope amplified the sound of them leaving the room. Swiftly, he ripped up a larger portion of the roof insulation, then took his knife and started to score into the plasterboard. He had to be delicate - the knife had to weaken the plasterboard sufficiently, but not work its way through to the other side - yet quick - if they came back before he had finished, the sound would alert them to his presence.
He worked deftly and was satisfied that the ceiling was weak enough by the time they returned to the room.
Faisal Ahmed resumed his position lying on all fours across the joists, the stethoscope firmly in his ears.
It was evening when they next went to the bathroom. His body was freezing cold and ached from lying on the joists. But that didn't matter. As soon as the room was empty, Ahmed removed the heaviest item in his rucksack - an extremely long length of thin but strong rope, one end of which he tied to the rafters of the attic. He removed his MP5, checked the laser sight was working, then fitted his NV goggles to his head - switched off for now to conserve battery. Finally he placed the remote control by his side, ready to use when the time was right, before lying down once more to listen through the ceiling at what was going on below.
The minutes ticked past.
They turned to hours.
It was perfectly dark in the attic.
He waited.
And waited.
It was gone midnight when he illuminated his watch. In the room below, he heard voices. It sounded like changeover time and with satisfaction he heard one of the men say the words he was waiting for.
'Stick the kettle on.'
Still lying on the joists, Ahmed groped for the remote control.
He flicked the switch.
No sound.
He smiled with grim satisfaction. The builder's foam had done its sound-insulating work well.
In a matter of minutes it would be over.
*
In the room, the lights suddenly failed.
'What's happening?' Drew asked, sharply.
'Wake Kennedy,' Will hissed, his voice terse as he strode over to Latifa and put his gun to her head.
'I'm awake,' Kennedy's voice came through the darkness. 'What the fuck's going on?'
'We've lost power,' Will said.
'Thanks, Einstein. Why?'
'I don't know. It's an old house. Dodgy wiring. Bit of a coincidence, though.'
'Probably the fucking kettle.' Kennedy's voice was edgy and clipped.
'Cutting the electricity's one way to disable the motion sensors,' Drew added.
'But you can't do it from outside the house,' Will said.
'We checked, remember?'
'The fuse box must have tripped, then,' Drew said. 'One of us needs to go and have a look.'
Will grabbed a torch. 'I'll go,' he said. 'Lock the door after me and one of you mark the woman. Don't let your guard down for a second.'
'Roger that,' they spoke in unison. Will could tell from the brisk, efficient sound of their voices that they had entered combat mode. It probably was just the kettle tripping the electrics, but you couldn't be too sure.
Will descended the stairs carefully, his weapon at the ready. As he edged slowly down to the kitchen he could feel the blood pumping in his veins. He had to get the power back on - without that, their early-warning system was useless. But something wasn't right. He desperately tried to work out what he might have missed, but there was nothing. The power couldn't be turned off from outside and the house couldn't be approached without them knowing.
It was impossible. So why did he suddenly feel so nervous?
The fuse box was just ahead of him. He illuminated his torch and pointed it at the wall.
He blinked.
The door to the box was hanging open; inside was a mess of wires and foam.
No one else in the house had done that to the fuse box It could only mean one thing.
'Oh my God,' he whispered to himself, a sudden, debilitating dread creeping through his limbs.' Ahmed. He's already here.'
And it was only then that he heard the gunshots from above.
FIFTEEN
Sixty seconds.
That was how long Faisal Ahmed gave it to allow whoever was heading down to the fuse box to get there.
He silently stood up on the ceiling joist, holding on to the top of the rope with one hand, clutching his MP5 with the other. A flick of a switch and his NV goggles powered up. Everything around him became suffused in a grainy green light. Looking down, he saw the area of the ceiling that he had scored and weakened.
And then he jumped. The ceiling plaster shattered everywhere as he crashed through into the room below. As soon as he felt the rope tighten, he started to slide down it, looking around to take in everything in the room. Latifa was in the corner, sitting in a chair: she looked around blindly in the darkness. Next to her was a man with a weapon. The gun had clearly been aimed at his sister's head, but now the man was in the process of swinging it round in Ahmed's direction.
Ahmed acted without hesitation. The laser sight illuminated its target and a single head shot was all it took to put the man to the floor.
On the other side of the room was the second man. He too seemed only to have the vaguest sense in the darkness of where Ahmed was. The second shot from the MP5 hit him in the shoulder and threw him against the wall; the third was more accurate and finished him off.
By the time Faisal Ahmed hit the floor, both of Latifa's guards lay dead.
He had to move quickly. The third man would have been alerted to his presence by the sound of gunfire and even now would be hurtling up the stairs.
'Faisal?' he heard Latifa say. Her voice was terrified.
'Did they hurt you?' he asked in their native Pashto.
'No,' she replied. 'But I cannot walk easily.'
Still holding the rope, Ahmed strode over to her and, with one swift movement, grabbed her around the waist and slung her over his shoulders.
As he did so, there was a banging on the door. 'Drew!' a voice called. 'Kennedy! Unlock it! Let me in!'
Calmly, Ahmed aimed his MP5 at the door. The weapon was powerful enough to burst through the wood and take out his final enemy.
'No!' Latifa hissed. 'Do not shoot him.'
'What do you mean?'
'I owe that man my life, Faisal. Do not shoot him.'
Faisal Ahmed had never been able to deny his sister; against his better judgement he hurried to the window. A burst of fire from the MP5 shattered the panes and a swipe of his arm cleared the fragmented glass from the edges. There was a sound of heavy gunshots from behind him as the man on the other side of the door started to shoot it through - it made Latifa gasp, but Faisal Ahmed remained coldly calm. There was plenty of rope left and they'd be out of here in seconds. He heaved himself and his sister through the window, then ignored the feel of the rope burning into his free hand as the two of them slid down to the ground.
There was nothing he could do to make the rope useless to his pursuer and he momentarily cursed himself for honouring his sister's request. But it was too late now. All he could do was run.
*
Will crashed through the door, a sick feeling running through every part of his body. The moment he was in the room he flashed the torch all around. The light fell first on Kennedy's body: the SAS man's face was an unrecognisable mess of blood and bone. 'Jesus,' Will whispered, before hunting out Drew. The third of their little unit was slumped half against the wall and even in the semi-darkness Will could see his blood still gushing from his gaping head wound.
And Latifa was nowhere to be seen.
As he stood there, his mind clamouring with shocked alarm, he became aware of the hole in the ceiling and the rope trailing from the joists and out of the window. How long had Faisal Ahmed been up there? he wondered. And then it all became clear to him, how he had fooled them. He must have been waiting for his moment for at least twenty-four hours.
The shame of being outwitted and the anger at losing Drew and Kennedy spurred him into action. Ahmed had Latifa. He couldn't move quickly with her, so Will could still make chase. Running to the window, he grabbed the rope and slipped down to the ground, then stopped to listen. Sure enough, there was a rustling up ahead, eastwards, in the forest. UMP in hand, he followed the noise.
Seconds later he was beyond the boundary of the house and standing on the path that led away from it. He heard footsteps in the distance - it sounded like someone running, and Will didn't have the impression that they were crashing through foliage. Ahmed was taking the easy escape route - he had to, if he was carrying Latifa.
Will started to run up the path. The ground was soft and yet strangely knobbly and treacherous, thanks to the granitelike pebbles that were strewn all over the place. As Will ran, he shone the torch to the left and right, keeping an eye out for any areas where it looked as though Ahmed may have veered away from the path; then he realised he was making a target of himself, a target that no one could miss. He switched off the torch and continued in the darkness.
He moved with caution, but the nature of the terrain was such that Ahmed could have been hidden behind any of the trees that lined his route. Something told him - intuition - that he wasn't. It would have been the easiest thing in the world for the bastard to wait in the room and nail Will when he crashed through the door. But he hadn't. Will didn't know why, but he gambled that if he wasn't prepared to stop and shoot him then, he wouldn't be now. Still, he trod lightly. Every now and then he would stop and hold his breath so that the sound did not interfere with his hearing. Each time he did, he heard the steps up ahead. Was it his imagination or were they getting closer? Was he gaining on him? Will gripped his weapon a little harder and continued pushing uphill.
Suddenly he stopped.
It caught him in the eye first, the little red light. Momentarily it disappeared, but then he looked down and saw it on his chest. He knew what it meant, of course - that someone had their laser sight firmly fixed on him. And it was perfectly obvious who that someone was.
'You have ten seconds,' a voice called from somewhere in the darkness beyond, 'to discharge your weapon into the ground and throw it into the trees. Any longer and I'll shoot.'
Will hesitated. For a moment he considered a random burst of fire from the UMP, but he dismissed the notion almost as soon as it came into his head. Ahmed had already nailed Drew and Kennedy; the fact that Will was alive was a miracle.
As if in response to that thought, the voice spoke again. 'My sister asked me not to kill you,' it stated, flatly. 'That's the only reason you're still alive. But you will be dead in three seconds' time if you do not do as I say.'
Will scowled, but he knew there was no option. He lowered his weapon and discharged it fully into the ground. Then he hurled it to one side into the woods.
