Firefight (16 page)

Then, suddenly, his man fell still.

Will let the Taliban guard fall and about twenty seconds
later, Drew did the same.

The Taliban guard's torch had dropped to the floor and
was shining away from them. It illuminated the shattered
remnants of Anderson's head.

'Make sure they're not going to wake up on us,' Will
breathed.

'My fucking pleasure,' growled Kennedy.

He bent down to the ground next to the Taliban guard
that Will had floored and without hesitation he plunged
the knife deep into the neck of the fallen man. With a
swift, silent, lethal efficiency, he moved over to the other
guard and repeated the operation.

By this time, Drew had picked up the torch and was
shining it on the two corpses. Will grabbed their Kalashnikovs
and gave them to Drew and Kennedy. For himself, he took
the knife, still sticky with the warm blood of the Taliban
guards, from Kennedy, then took the key that one of the
guards was still gripping. He unstrapped Anderson's belt and
put it on himself, then resheathed the knife. He also took
his dead comrade's watch: 00.57. They'd been in there for
hours. Patting one of the guards down, he found an extra
torch.

'Torch off,' he told Drew, who extinguished the light,
plunging them back into sudden darkness. They crept out
of the room, which now resembled a bloodbath, and locked
the door behind them.

The main square of the village was deserted. At some
point during their incarceration it had started to snow again
and the flakes had begun to cover up the footprints that
both they and the Taliban had made. The moon was still
high in the sky, brightly illuminating the village. Good thing
too, Will thought to himself. Their weapons and packs had
been taken and they only had two antique-looking
Kalashnikovs between them. Time was of the essence.
Someone could come to relieve the guards they had killed
at any moment. The instant they realised what had happened,
the whole village would be lit up like a Christmas tree and
the Taliban would be crawling all over the place. There was
no time to locate their own guns - it was more important
to find their target and get the hell out of there before it
all went tits up for a second time. And if they happened to
come across Ismail while they were looking, Will was sure
they'd find time to avenge Anderson's death.

Still, he felt naked without a gun. What was more, one
shot from an AK-47 would wake the whole place up. He'd
feel much more comfortable with a suppressed weapon. On
a whim, he looked over to where Anderson had fallen.
Remnants of the poor bastard were still there, the snow
spattered with brain matter, bits of skull and hair fragments.
But Will paid no attention to that: he was just relieved to
see that the Taliban, foolishly, had left the man's gun propped
up against the wall. He grabbed it, then turned and went
back to the others.

'Split up,' he breathed. 'You two search the buildings
here; I'll take the north side. RV back here in fifteen
minutes.'

Drew and Kennedy nodded and, cat-like, went about
their work. Will felt much more comfortable now that he
had the Diemaco in his fist and he ran silently up to the
north side of the village, doing his best to conceal himself
in the shadows that the moon cast on the frozen ground;
where that was not possible, he just moved quickly.

Up ahead there was a large, low, concrete building, not
unlike the one in which they had just been imprisoned. It
seemed different to the small dwelling places that were dotted
around and had a military truck parked outside - though a
layer of snow over the vehicle suggested it hadn't been moved
for at least a couple of days. After all, Will thought to himself,
where would anyone drive to from here? The building had
several metal doors evenly spaced around it, each firmly
locked with heavy iron padlocks. At one end there was what
looked like a wooden shack and beyond that the undulating
snow stretched off into the darkness.

Will examined the locks. If he had the equipment, he
could pick them in a trice, but God only knows where
their Taliban captors had stashed their packs. For a brief
moment he considered using the Diemaco to shoot the
locks off; but even though the suppressed weapon would
make little noise, the sound of the bullet against the metal
would alert anyone nearby to his presence. No, he was going
to have to think of another way in.

He skirted around the back of the building to see if there
was any other entrance. Nothing. But as he was there, he
heard a noise.

Quickly he turned, his back to the wall, pointing the
Diemaco out into the dark, snowy countryside beyond.

Silence.

Perhaps it was an animal. The dog he had heard earlier.

Then again, perhaps not.

He held his breath and kept his eyes peeled.

That sound again. It was coming from somewhere to his
left. Will pointed the Diemaco in that direction. He was
holding his breath, his finger poised a hair's breadth from
the trigger.

He listened carefully. Suddenly the noise came again.

Will blinked. He realised now what it was. It was the
sound of someone sobbing. A woman. And it was coming
from the wooden hut at the end of the building.

Carefully he edged his way along the concrete wall to
the hut; as he did so, the sound of the sobbing grew fractionally
louder. Checking there was no one around to see
him, he put his ear against the hut's wooden wall. There
was no mistaking it. Someone was crying inside. He edged
around to the front - the door to the hut was padlocked
like all the others. There was no way in.

He had to think quickly. The likelihood was that this was
Latifa Ahmed, but he couldn't be sure. And he couldn't risk
making a noise breaking into the hut and alerting anyone
to his presence.

After a moment's thought he crept round to the back of
the hut.

It was a reasonably well-constructed hut, but it was still
little more than planks of timber nailed on to a wooden
frame. Will ran his hand along the planks until he found
one that seemed looser than the others. That would do. He
pulled out Anderson's buckle knife, then levered it into the
groove running along the edge of the plank, just where it
was nailed into the frame. With a forceful yank, he levered
it away.

The timber creaked and immediately the crying inside
stopped. Will dug the knife in deeper and levered it once
more. Now there was enough room for him to get both
hands around the plank. He pulled hard. As he had hoped
it would, the wood came away from the frame.

Once the first timber plank was loose it was simpler to
pull away the second and the third, which gave him enough
space to get inside the hut. He pulled the torch he had
taken from the dead Taliban guard from the pocket of his
snowsuit. Shining it along the barrel of his Diemaco, he
looked inside.

What he saw sickened him.

A woman sat on the ground. The veil of her burka was
beside her and she stared into the bright light of the torch
with a look of the most abject fear and desperation. Her
face, Will realised after staring at it for a moment, was blue
and puffy with bruises - so much so that she seemed to
be having difficulty opening her eyes. Her black hair was
matted and dishevelled and her feet, which were bare
below her thin robes, were swollen and seemed to glisten
painfully in the light of the torch - sores, Will deduced,
weeping from some unspeakable torture. Her whole body
was shaking violently, though whether that was through
cold or through fear he couldn't tell. A mixture of both,
probably.

Will moved the light away from the woman and shined
it around the rest of the hut. It was empty. The only thing
the beam of the torch illuminated was a small pile of
excrement in the corner.

He moved the gun and the torch back on to the woman's
face and as he did so a curious cocktail of emotions overcame
him. He was nauseated that anyone could do such
things to a woman and filled with a burning need to bring
some sort of retribution on her tormentors. But at the same
time, he couldn't forget who she was: Faisal Ahmed's sister.
The sister of the man who had killed his family. Will was
glad that his face was hidden behind the bright light of the
torch - it meant that she would be unable to see the harshness
in his expression.

He needed to be sure it was her and that meant frightening
her even more than she was already. But it was necessary - a
mistake here would be catastrophic. He edged into the hut
and approached. Shining the torch down on her, he rested the
gun barrel on her head.

'What's your name?' he whispered. The woman he wanted,
Pankhurst had told him, spoke some English, so if it was
the right person, she would understand the question.

Her body started trembling even more violently and she
looked up at him with wide, frightened eyes.

'What's your name?'
Will hissed, insistently.

Again, silence.

'Tell me now,' he told her, 'otherwise I'll kill you.'

The woman took a deep breath and finally she spoke.
Her voice was desperately frail, a thin, cracked, weak sound.

'My name,' she said, 'is Latifa Ahmed. And if you kill me
now, you would be doing me a great service.'

'Get to your feet.'

Latifa's frightened eyes looked up at him. 'I cannot,' she
said.

'What do you mean, you can't?' Will demanded. But even
as he spoke, he directed his torch back towards the woman's
feet. The bright white light illuminated the weeping sores.

'They burned my skin,' Latifa said in pitiful explanation.
'They brought fire and burned my skin.'

'Jesus,' Will whispered. The woman was a mess. But there
was no time for sympathy. He strode towards her, letting
the Diemaco hang from its strap.

'Did Faisal send you?'

The question wrongfooted Will for a moment, and he
hesitated. 'Yes,' he lied, finally, knowing that this was one
way to get her on side. He despised himself for doing it.
'Your brother sent me.' He put his hands under her armpits
and roughly pulled her up.

Latifa's body was impossibly bony and she was as light
as a child. The moment her feet touched the ground,
however, she opened her mouth to scream. The sound
never left her throat - Will's hand was there before she
could make a noise and he held it firmly over her lips
while her body adjusted to what was clearly an agonising
pain. Her breath came in short, sharp bursts and tears came
to her eyes.

'Listen to me,' Will hissed. 'I'm going to get you out of
here, but you have to do as I say. If you
don't
do what I
say, they'll kill all of us. Do you understand?'

Latifa, her eyes wide with fright and hate, nodded.

'Good. I know you're in pain, but you're going to have
to deal with it. Can you do that?'

Latifa moved a hand up to his and pulled it firmly from
her mouth. 'Yes,' she said, a hint of steel entering her frail
voice. 'I can do that.'

Will nodded. He couldn't help feeling a twinge of respect
for this woman; it was an uncomfortable sensation, given
how much he wanted to loathe her for what her brother
had done. As if to conquer his confused emotions, he tugged
her arm forcefully. 'Come on,' he whispered.

They squeezed through the back of the hut and out
into the snow. Latifa walked barefoot and painfully and
the expression on her face spoke of the agony she was
experiencing. Will kept his Diemaco raised, the torch
switched off to avoid anyone spotting them from a
distance. It seemed to take an age to get back to the RV
point, but Latifa was treading gingerly and Will knew that
short of carrying her, there was no way he could speed
her up.

By the time they reached the RV point, Latifa's whole
body was shaking with cold, pain and fear. Drew and
Kennedy were waiting for them, hiding in the shadows with
their guns pointing outwards. 'Fuck me,' Kennedy breathed
when Will and Latifa joined them. 'Is that her?'

'Yeah,' Will stated, flatly. 'That's her.'

'Christ,' he whispered. For once Kennedy was lost for
words.

Latifa's shivering was getting worse. 'She's not going to
make it at this rate,' Will muttered. 'She's going to freeze.'
He lowered his weapon and started removing his snowsuit.
As soon as it was off, he felt his body temperature drop,
but it was more important that Latifa had some warmth -
Will was in much better shape to withstand the cold than
she was.

'Put this on,' he told her.

The woman stared back at him uncomprehendingly.

'
Put it on!
' he repeated, before abruptly forcing her limbs
into the snowsuit. Only when she was more suitably dressed
did Drew speak.

'She's not in any kind of state to make it back to the
truck,' he observed, quietly.

He was right. Creeping around the village was one thing,
but it was a couple of hours' hard walk through the snow
back to where they had left the vehicle. Even if they managed
to raise her body temperature, she wasn't going to make it.

'You'll have to carry her,' Will told them. 'Between the
two of you. One person carry her, the other provide cover
from the rear.'

'What about you?' Kennedy asked.

Will glanced around him, remembering Anderson's body
in the schoolroom.

'I'm going to deal with Ismail,' he said, calmly.

'Don't be a fucking idiot,' Kennedy snapped. 'Look,
Anderson was a friend and I'm sorry he's dead. But we're
lucky we're not all in two pieces like him and we haven't
got the time for revenge killings. We all leave together.
Now.'

Will's face stiffened. Kennedy was right, of course. With
Anderson down, all they had to think about was the mission:
their priority was to get Latifa the hell out of here and that
was what they should be doing. But somehow Will couldn't
quite see it that way; and besides, there was another reason
for putting a bullet in Ismail's skull.

'They'll find out that we've gone before long,' he said.
'When they do, they'll want to follow us. Ismail knows
where we're headed. I need to stop him from telling them.'

Kennedy looked unconvinced. 'He's probably told them
already. We need to expect a surprise party when we get
to the truck.'

'But if he hasn't,' Will replied, 'we don't want them
following us. I need to deal with it.'

Kennedy shrugged his shoulders. 'It's your fucking skin,'
he said, before turning to Latifa. 'Can you get on my back?'
he asked.

Latifa just stared at him.

'Fuck it,' Kennedy murmured, picking her up in his arms.
'Don't think I'm carrying her all the way.'

A flicker of a smile passed across Drew's face. ''Course
not,' he murmured. 'Listen, we entered the village from the
west, so I don't think we should leave that way. Let's head
north, then skirt round to the west.' He looked out into
the barren snowscape beyond the village. 'That way,' he
pointed.

Kennedy grunted in agreement.

'How long do you need here?' Drew asked Will.

Will shrugged. 'Twenty minutes max,' he said.

'Right. We'll wait at the truck for half an hour. If you
haven't shown by then, we're leaving.'

'Roger that,' Will nodded, then watched as the two SAS
men and the shivering woman disappeared into the darkness.

The hut into which Will had seen Ismail disappear was
at the opposite corner of the main square, but he couldn't
risk heading straight there - he would be too exposed,
easily picked off by anyone with a weapon. So he crept
around the edge, keeping to the shadows and treading as
softly as he could. He felt strangely naked without his snowsuit.
Light. Already the chill had started to penetrate to his
skin, but he did his best to put that from his mind. Keep
moving, he told himself. Keep moving and you'll be OK.

His footsteps crunched in the snowy ground, but other
than that there was no sound as he approached the hut he
had seen Ismail enter. It was built on top of a concrete
foundation block perhaps half a metre high and it had posts
at regular intervals around it, which held the flat roof up.
There was a wooden door on one side, but a quick recce
around the building told him that there were no windows
or any other mode of entry. He stood by the door for a
moment, holding his breath as he strained his ears to hear
any sound from within.

Nothing.

Will stepped to one side of the door, put his back against
the wall, then used the barrel of his Diemaco to rap on the
wood. Tap-tap-tap. Quietly, but loud enough for anyone
inside to hear.

Still nothing.

He tapped again. This time there was a shuffling inside,
then silence.

Will waited. He couldn't risk barging in - it would make
too much noise and he would be an instant target in the
doorway. No, he'd have to wait for anyone inside to come
to him and if that didn't happen, he'd have to abort.

His breath steamed in the cold air as he continued to
press himself against the wall.

More shuffling. Someone was approaching the door. He
could sense they were just on the other side now and he
thought he could hear a faint click - the sound of a weapon
being readied.

The door opened.

It all happened in a couple of seconds. As the door edged
open, Will saw a handgun appear in the crack. Instantaneously
he brought the barrel of his own gun down fiercely on to
the hand; there was a whimper of pain and the gun fell
to the ground. Will barged in, pushing the figure roughly to
the floor, and kicking the door shut behind him.

What little light there was inside the hut came from a
small, smoky lamp with a flickering yellow flame. It sat on
a wooden table; elsewhere there were a couple of stools
and a yellowing mattress rolled out in one corner. And on
the floor, staring up at Will with a look of such abject fear
as the SAS man had never seen in his life, was Ismail.

Will raised the Diemaco and aimed it directly at the head
of the terrified Afghan.

'The man those bastards killed had a family,' he whispered.
'Thanks to you, someone's father won't be coming
home.'

Ismail shuffled on his back away from him, but Will kept
the gun aimed steadily at his head.

'I had no choice,' Ismail whispered. 'I promise you, I had
no choice!'

'Don't give me that shit. Of course you had a choice.
Them or us. It's very simple.'

Ismail closed his eyes, clearly preparing himself for the
end to come. 'They found out two days ago that I was
informing against them,' he stuttered. 'They abducted my
wife and my little boy. They said they would kill them if I
did not do as they said.' He opened his eyes again. 'They
were serious,' he said with a sudden and simple conviction.

Will felt his lip curling. 'I don't believe you,' he growled,
though in his heart he knew that Ismail's words had the
desperate ring of truth.

Ismail was shaking now and his skin was sweating despite
the cold. 'How did you break out?' he asked.

Will remained silent.

'It doesn't matter,' Ismail whispered. 'If you escape, they
will kill me anyway, and my family. But not before torturing
me first to see if I know where you have gone. My family
is as good as dead. Perhaps it is best that you end it all for
me now.' He closed his eyes again and took a deep breath.

Will's finger hesitated on the trigger. Whether Ismail was
telling the truth or not, he was a liability to the safety of
their mission. He should plug him now. Silence him. Make
sure he could not tell the Taliban where to look for them.
But something stopped him. Silently he cursed himself. Two
years ago he wouldn't have given this a second thought; if
Drew or Kennedy were in his position now, Ismail would
already be dead.

'Did you tell them?' he asked, quietly. 'Where the truck
is, I mean.'

Ismail looked up at him. 'No. Not yet. But they asked me
if I knew where it was. I will do my best not to take them,'
he replied. 'But I am not a strong man. I am not like you
and your friends. I cannot guarantee that I will be able to
withstand their tortures. You must either kill me or leave
quickly before they realise you have gone.'

The Afghan's ultimatum hung in the air. He continued
to shiver, his whole body consumed with trembling.

'You're coming with me,' Will stated, firmly.

An uneasy smile came on to Ismail's frightened face, and
he shook his head. 'I cannot,' he whispered. 'If I do that it
would be like pulling the trigger on my family myself. You
do not perhaps understand quite what the Taliban are
capable of.'

'I've got a pretty fucking good idea,' Will murmured,
almost to himself. He thought for a moment before speaking
again. 'Get up against the wall,' he said, quietly. His Diemaco
was still pointing directly at Ismail's head.

For a moment Ismail didn't move. But then he nodded
his head fearfully and shuffled backwards.

Once he was pressed against the wall, Will stepped back.
He opened the door with one hand. 'Stay there,' he told
Ismail, before turning and stepping outside.

The Sig handgun that he had given the Afghan and which
only a minute earlier he had knocked from his hands was
still lying in the snow. He bent down, picked it up and
stepped back inside. Ismail was still huddled against the wall.
Will placed the gun on the table.

'If you're not going to come with me, then you're on
your own. Use this to defend yourself when they come
for you.'

Ismail looked nervously at the gun. 'I am not a fighter,'
he whispered.

'I didn't say you were, Ismail. Just do what you have
to do.'

The two man stared at each other.

'You must go,' the Afghan said finally. 'They will soon
find out you are gone and if they catch you—'

Will nodded, curtly. Then, without saying another word,
he left the hut, leaving the frightened Afghan shaking in
the semi-darkness.

*

Ismail stared at the gun.

Soon, he knew, his wife and little son would be facing
the barrel of some such weapon and it would be the last
thing they saw on earth. It was all he could do not to retch
at the thought of it. These Taliban, he knew what they were
like. He had lived through their regime. They were merciless.
There was no way they would believe Ismail that he
had not released the SAS men. No way at all. They would
kill his family in front of him, not because they were involved
in any way; just to make Ismail himself feel the pain.

A coldness ran through him as a possibility suggested itself.
Perhaps there was a way to save them after all. Perhaps there
was a way out of this, for his wife and child if not for him.
If Ismail himself was not around to witness his family's death,
there would be no reason for the Taliban to kill them.

It was like a game of chess. And as his father had taught
him so many years ago when they played during the summer
outside the cafés of Kandahar, in chess you must sometimes
make sacrifices in order to win.

Big sacrifices.

Ismail realised that his body was shaking as he approached
the table and touched the handgun before picking it up
and feeling its weight.