Bad Soldier: Danny Black Thriller 4 (21 page)

Danny examined the road surface. Old, cracked tarmac. No road markings. There was wet mud at one edge, with a fragment of tyre markings. A vehicle had passed this way recently. They needed to get off the road, quickly. Danny jabbed a forefinger in a northerly direction. Spud nodded.

The RV point was a featureless patch of open ground. But it was surrounded by undulating terrain that meant it was unobservable from the road. Danny and Spud avoided the RV point itself. Instead, they started looking for suitable OPs. They couldn’t both lie up in the same place. When – if – the Kurds arrived, their strategy was clear. If everything seemed OK, Danny would approach by himself, while Spud covered the Kurds and their vehicle. For that to work, they needed to be facing the RV at a forty-five-degree angle to each other, at least.

He and Spud identified the best locations immediately. They were two small hills – little more than mounds, really – one of them situated fifty metres north-west of the RV point, the other about sixty metres south-west. Danny headed to the northernmost OP point, Spud to the southernmost. When Danny reached his mound, he crouched down at its base and opened his bergen.

Each man, at the top of their pack, had what looked like a camouflage-patterned blanket. Back in Hereford, they’d dubbed these things ‘combat burkas’. They were fitted with electronic anti-surveillance devices. It was new technology, capable of disrupting radar and infrared signals, which the guys knew were often used to scan wide-open desert areas in a search for human signatures. It was unlikely the Kurds would have such sophisticated surveillance systems – but it wasn’t just the Kurds they had to worry about. This was Turkish territory, and although the Turks had given permission for a British aircraft to enter their airspace, there had been no mention of men on the ground. Hammond had warned of Russian and American SF in the region. And then, of course, there was IS.

Danny donned his combat burka, knowing that Spud would be doing the same at his OP. His radio earpiece crackled. Caitlin’s voice. A single word: ‘
Clear.
’

Spud responded: ‘
Clear
.’

Then Danny: ‘Clear.’

He carefully carried his pack and weapon on to the brow of the hill. He lay on his front, completely covered, with his weapon alongside him, clutching a small night scope. Danny focussed in on the RV. It was simply a bleak, empty, windswept patch of open ground.

Time check: 2232 hours. An hour and twenty-eight minutes till RV. Time was important. As soon as they made contact, they needed to advance to target, because the longer they could put in surveillance on Dhul Faqar’s compound – to work out the lie of the land and establish the regular movements of his men – the better their chance of success.

Danny lay there, totally silent, every sense on high alert, as he waited for their contacts to arrive.

‘Sandringham tomorrow,’ Yellow Seven had said. ‘Tonight, we party.’

That had been two hours ago. It had briefly crossed Tony’s mind that he should be staying sober. He was on duty, after all. But Yellow Seven had been quite insistent that they get pissed together. And who am I, Tony thought, to disobey a royal command? The guy had seemed so genuinely delighted that he’d found somebody to join him in his recreations, he appeared to be redoubling his efforts to have a good time.

They had remained in the penthouse suite of the hotel for an hour, hoovering up Yellow Seven’s stash of marching powder like it was going out of fashion, and necking shots of single malt. It didn’t take long for Tony to start feeling disjointed from his own body. Every time he turned his head, the lights in the room cast a trail across his vision. When Yellow Seven had called in his royal flunky and told him that he wanted to go to a club called Mahoka in downtown Dubai, Hughes had looked daggers at Tony, as if Tony himself had suddenly pushed the young man off the rails. Not that Tony gave a shit. He was happy to go along for the ride. And when his Grace had reminded him that there was no booze served in these places, so they’d better take advantage of the bar while they could, Tony had been happy to oblige.

Now he was sitting in the back of a black Mercedes. Tinted windows, suited chauffeur. The regular close protection guys were in a vehicle behind them. They too had given Tony the deadeye as he’d accompanied their charge out of the penthouse, through the lobby of the hotel and into their waiting vehicle. He’d been aware of a couple of people holding up their smartphones to snap a picture, and idly wondered if his own pupils were as dilated as Yellow Seven’s.

‘You’ll like this place,’ his royal companion said as their Merc swept across the short causeway that linked their hotel to the Dubai mainland. He was talking quickly, and had a slightly high-pitched edge to his voice. ‘It’s where all the best chicks hang out.’ He grinned. ‘We could have a competition. See which is the best fanny magnet – the royal family or SAS.’

‘That’s not a fair fight,’ Tony said. ‘A Regiment man never lets on in public that he’s SAS.’

Yellow Seven’s grin grew broader. ‘Bad luck,’ he said.

Tony raised an eyebrow at him. ‘Maybe I don’t need any extra help to score,’ he said.

His companion doubled over with laughter, as if that was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. ‘You’re fucking hilarious,’ he bellowed. ‘I’m telling Hughes to get you along every time I need close protection. You’re a hell of a sight more fun than Dick and Dom in the other car.’ He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder to indicate the CP guys’ vehicle behind them.

Tony sniffed. The charlie had numbed his nose and he found himself craving a little more. Not a problem, he thought, glancing at Yellow Seven, who was still giggling to himself. Plenty where that came from. He caught sight of himself in the rear-view mirror and realised he was smiling. Looked like he was landing on his feet after his summary dismissal from the Mediterranean op.

The bright lights of central Dubai flashed past his peripheral vision. He realised that the coke had screwed up his sense of spatial awareness, and even of the passing of time. Before he knew it, he was walking alongside his new companion into the VIP entrance of an impossibly swanky club. Fawning staff bowed as they opened doors for them, while the two CP guys kept a respectful distance of several metres. They walked into a warm, neon-lit room with softly thudding dance music. There were private booths along the left-hand side, and the whole place was decked out like a rainforest, although whoever had designed these sparkling indoor waterfalls and beautiful, verdant plants draped everywhere had obviously never spent much time in thick, stinking, primary jungle.

They walked up to a long, neon-lit bar, the music growing louder the further into the club they went. Tony felt all eyes on them, and his senses weren’t so far gone that he didn’t notice that most of those eyes belonged to young women who made the hooker back at the hotel look like Susan Boyle. When they reached the bar, there were already two drinks waiting for them – fruit cocktails of some kind. Tony took his and raised a glass to the two CP guys, who were now loitering by the entrance, looking like a couple of spare parts. They scowled back at him, but Tony had already turned his attention to the rest of the guests. Like Yellow Seven, he had his back to the bar and was scanning the club, blatantly trying to pick out faces among the heavily made-up women on offer, as the dance music continued to throb through him. He caught the eye of several of them. They gave him smiles that left him in no doubt that they were unlikely to put up any resistance, if he were to approach them.

He turned to his companion, whose pupils were even more dilated now than they had been in the car. Yellow Seven gave him a lascivious grin. ‘May the best man win,’ he shouted over the noise of the music, before heading into the heart of the club towards a table where four chicks wearing not a great deal almost seemed to be waiting for him to join them.

He was a smooth bastard. Tony would give him that. He watched him suavely introducing himself for a moment, then turned his attention to his own prey. There were a couple of girls at a nearby table – one blonde, one brunette, sequinned tops and plenty of make-up, the way Tony liked it – who were casting him a coy look.

Tony took a gulp from his cocktail and cast another sneering glance at the CP guys, who returned it. Then he moved in for the kill.

Eleven

Danny’s hands were numb with cold. The combat burka went some way to keeping the wind off him, but the ground itself sapped all the warmth from his body. He’d endured worse, though – and it wasn’t like they would be dug in for much longer. He hoped.

Three vehicles had passed since they’d been there. He hadn’t seen them, but he’d heard them – just – and seen the faint glow of their headlamps passing. Danny counted them all as suspicious. Who the hell would be driving here, miles from any town, so close to the Iraqi border, when they knew there was a chance of meeting militants of all persuasions?

2337 hours. Danny heard a noise. Very distant, but getting louder very quickly. Seconds later there was a sonic boom as an aircraft, unseen above the cloud cover, burst overhead and then disappeared into the distance. It was definitely some kind of fighter plane. Danny consulted his internal compass. The aircraft had approached from the east. Was it Russian, off to bomb rebel targets in Syria? If so, it was playing a dangerous game. The Turkish military had form when it came to shooting down Russian bombers when they strayed into their airspace.

0000 hours.

Caitlin: ‘
Clear
.’

Spud: ‘
Clear
.’

Danny: ‘Clear.’

There was a moment’s complete silence. Then Spud spoke over the radio for the first time since they’d dug in. ‘
Fuckers are late
,’ he said. ‘
How are we supposed to trust them to get us across the Iraqi border when they can’t even show up on time for the first RV 
. . .’

‘Keep in position,’ Danny replied.

Time passed. At 0030 hours, each member of the unit checked in. 0100 same deal. But still no sign of the Kurds. Danny was acutely aware that the temperature was dropping. It was uncomfortable, but there was a way to go before it started having a negative effect on his body or his decision-making. He still had a creeping anxiety in his gut. Their contacts were an hour late. It was suspicious. Not to mention that they had limited time to get across the border and to the stronghold. He focussed on his surveillance of the RV point. There was no sign of anything. No movement. No traffic passing on the road.

By 0125 hours they were almost an hour and a half late, and Danny was getting properly worried. They were relying on these guys. Without them, the op was a non-starter. And what if there was a sinister reason for the Kurds being delayed? What if someone had got to them? What if they’d forced the details of the RV out of them? That would mean Danny and Spud were severely compromised.

0130 hours. Spud was the first to check in. ‘
Clear.
’

Danny: ‘Clear.’

Silence.

Danny gave it fifteen seconds. ‘Caitlin, do you copy?’

Nothing.

Danny felt a knot in his stomach. Why the hell was Caitlin not responding?

Danny ran through their options. If they left their positions now, they risked missing the RV. He was sure these Kurds wouldn’t want to hang around. But there was a good chance they weren’t going to show anyway, and what if Caitlin was in trouble?

‘
Situation normal, all fucked up.
’ Spud’s voice on the radio sounded tense. ‘
Something’s happening. We need to abort, get back to the LZ, phone in for a pick-up
—’

‘Quiet,’ Danny interrupted him. He’d seen something. A flash of light coming from the road to the south. It was only momentary, but that made sense. The ground was undulating. If it was the headlamps of a vehicle, they’d only see it when they were pointing upwards.

The decision was made for them. They couldn’t risk showing themselves yet. They had company.

Danny engaged the NV goggles fitted to the top of his helmet. Ten seconds passed. Another flash of light. Danny found himself clutching his weapon with a little more purpose. He squinted as a vehicle came into view, trundling heavily off-road over the undulating ground towards the RV point. Danny tried to work out what kind of vehicle it was, but the headlamps were too bright for him to see. He looked to one side as it continued to approach. Twenty seconds later it reached the RV point. The headlamps faded. A moment’s silence. Then the headlamps gave three short flashes.

‘
That’s the signal
,’ Spud breathed.

‘It’s one of the signals,’ Danny said. ‘But I don’t like that they’re so late.’ And he thought to himself: what if someone’s got to Caitlin, and through Caitlin got to us? ‘We’ll give it two minutes,’ he said, ‘check they haven’t brought any friends with them.’

‘
Mucker, this is
—’

‘I know.’

They lay in complete silence. Nobody exited the vehicle, and there was no movement from anywhere else. Not that it put Danny any less on edge. In a situation like this, there was always a point where you had to make the call to break cover. It was natural to be shitting yourself when that moment happened. As his eyes recovered from the glare of the vehicle’s headlamps, he found that he was able to discern it in more detail. It was a pickup truck of some description, and there was nothing subtle about it – Danny could see the outline of some kind of heavy weaponry mounted to the back. A fifty-cal, maybe. Enough to mow down a couple of guys on foot in a matter of seconds.