Kill or Capture (4 page)

Jennings was manning the machine gun. He seemed relaxed, chewing a stick of gum. Stokes was peering through a tripod-mounted ranging scope. In the heat their uniforms were drenched in sweat. “There’s been some movement, sir, but every time they come out into the open, we send them running for cover.”

“You said you were being attacked almost every night,” Connor remarked.

Jennings looked up from his weapon. “Yep, every night for the past month. It’s true what they tell us during basic training, sir.”

“What is?”

“That soldiering is basically long periods of extreme boredom, followed by short periods of extreme violence, sir.” He grinned. “But it’s worth the wait!”

Connor raised the binoculars and surveyed the terrain; flat, dusty green, and crisscrossed by shallow ditches and wadis. The ground eventually sloped down to a band of dense undergrowth by the river. He handed the binoculars back. “Thank you, captain. Your efforts are much appreciated. We’ll move out at midnight.”

Jacko led the men, their faces blackened for camouflage, along the ditch. Behind him Sam, Danny and Ben dragged the three collapsible two-man canoes and paddles. Connor and Sparks brought up the rear. With the moon obscured by cloud, the darkness was almost complete. The stifling heat of the day had been replaced by a cool breeze filled with the frantic chatter of insects and the distant sound of the river. Through their helmet-mounted night-vision aids, their surroundings looked otherworldly — giant moths glowing brightly as they zigzagged through the night air.

Midway along the ditch the calm was shattered by an explosion and distant crack of rifle fire. Connor looked round and saw that FOB Crossbow was under attack. To his relief it appeared that the Taliban had launched their assault from the other direction. Within seconds phosphorous flares arced high into the sky. As their flickering light lit the valley beyond, Private Jennings returned fire from the tower. Connor watched for a minute before turning his back on them. He continued to crawl along the ditch. Almost immediately, he bumped into Sparks, who signalled that voices had been heard up ahead. Connor moved silently along the line and tapped Jacko on the shoulder.

Jacko pointed.

Connor saw two figures heading towards them on all fours. They had rifles slung across their backs. They were talking to one another and completely oblivious to Delta Force’s presence. Connor ran a finger across his throat and drew his knife. Jacko drew his too. They remained perfectly still and waited, watching.

“
Khatar day?
”

“
Hoo.
”

“
Dalta nazhde kum mayn shta?
”

“
Na — aarr!
”

Connor wiped the blood from his knife on the Taliban fighter’s clothes. Jacko crawled over the two bodies and continued on a further fifty metres. Then he whispered over the radio that the rest of the ditch was clear. Connor ordered the others to move up.

At the river, they slipped the canoes into the water and set off upriver, hugging the bank for maximum cover. The muscles in their arms began to burn as they pulled against the strong current. They pressed on, desperate to remain silent, desperate to remain unnoticed.

After an hour’s exertion, Connor checked his wrist-mounted GPS locator. He was relieved that they’d finally reached his planned point to go ashore. He paddled hard left to take him towards the bank and thick undergrowth. The others followed and they dragged their canoes onto the muddy bank.

Connor needed to get a proper look at the layout of the village — located about two hundred metres away — before making a move on the compound where intel had placed Jabir, Colonel Khalid and Baxter. He lay flat, using his elbows to haul himself through a stinking irrigation ditch. He emerged from tall spiky grass about fifty metres from the nearest building.

To his left was a pomegranate orchard, to his right a field of wheat. Straight ahead was a stony track leading to the cluster of walled compounds, and several derelict outbuildings. He scanned the whole area with a thermal-imaging scope, but saw no sign of any guards. If any were there, they were well hidden. He radioed for the others to join him.

“Do you reckon they’ve moved the hostages, sir?” Ben asked. “This place looks deserted.”

“Don’t know. Guess we’d better find out. Sparks and Sam stay here and cover our exit. Sparks, keep an open channel to CENTCOM and make sure air support is ready to come and evac us at a moment’s notice. Ben and Danny — you’re Team Two — enter via the back of the compound and get onto the flat roof of the target building as quickly as possible. Standard protocol; clear the first floor while Jacko and I deal with the ground level. Move in on my command. Good luck, guys.”

Delta Force moved swiftly and silently from one place of cover to the next. Connor and Jacko entered the field of wheat and reached part of the compound’s mud-brick wall that had collapsed. They waited, crouching in the dark. A click in Connor’s ear was followed by Danny’s voice. Team Two had arrived at the rear of the compound. “Roger that. Go!” Connor replied.

Jacko was first over the wall. On the other side he knelt and swept the compound with his M4. Once over, Connor ran towards a side door in the farmhouse. He noticed the windows had been blacked out. The only sound was the whirr and clatter of an electricity generator in a nearby outhouse. Danny and Ben appeared on the top of the wall at the rear of the compound. They ran along it, stooping to maintain their balance as it rose up a good three metres. When close enough to the farmhouse, they jumped onto the flat roof and prepared to enter through a first-floor window. “Team Two in position, over.”

Connor checked the doorframe closely for signs of a booby trap, but there was nothing suspicious. He gave the order to enter.

Ben forced in the window on the first floor and Danny scanned the room. It was clear. Ben quickly climbed through and they began to check the upstairs rooms. At the same time, Jacko entered the dark hallway, crouched down and waved Connor forward. Through their night-vision gear they could see the hallway was empty.

“Clear! … Clear! … Clear!” It all happened in seconds; crashing doors as they got kicked open, shouting as Danny and Ben checked the upstairs rooms. Jacko and Connor moved fast too, each taking rooms on opposite sides of the hall.

“Clear!” Connor shouted.

“Oh, Jeezzuss! In here, major.”

Connor turned and hurried across the hallway, entering a sparsely furnished room. To his right a TV and DVD player stood on a large box. To his left, Colonel Khalid and Sergeant Baxter were sitting on the floor, propped up against the wall, their decapitated heads resting in their laps.

Suddenly, the TV burst into life.

Startled and unnerved Connor and Jacko spun round. “What the…?”

The TV picture showed Jabir Hassani sitting cross-legged. A cheap motion sensor had been rigged to the DVD player’s “on” switch, triggering the video to start when someone entered the room.

“First floor secure,” Danny said over the radio.

“I don’t like this,” Connor snapped, staring at Khalid and Baxter.

Jabir raised a hand, almost as if waving, and began to speak. “So, we meet again Major Connor.”

“How the…?” Jacko’s jaw dropped.

“Sparks! Sam! We’ve been set up. Watch for movement,” Connor barked.

Jabir leaned forward towards the camera lens and continued. “My sources informed me that Delta Force had been assigned with the rescue attempt. As you can see, I’m afraid you are too late, major. You should have killed me when you had the chance, but you didn’t. And tomorrow the president will die too, major. Of course, I know you’ll try to stop me and you’ll try to protect him. But you will FAIL!”

“We’re leaving. Now!” Connor shouted. “Team Two fall back to your entry point.”

On the TV, Jabir continued but no one was watching. He began ranting, repeating his demands, spitting hatred at all non-believers, raging that his Taliban would be victorious in their jihad.

Connor and Jacko were halfway across the compound when the bomb linked to the DVD player detonated. The explosion flung them to the ground.

A few hundred metres away, Shafiq crouched behind a dry-stone wall separating two fields of poppies overlooking the compound. He had been watching events unfold through a pair of night-vision binoculars his father had stolen from the ANA. He’d seen soldiers enter. He’d watched the building explode. And now he could hear the rhythmic thwack-thwack of helicopter rotors in the distance. He took his mobile phone from his pocket and dialled.

“Uncle Jabir, you were right. They did come. The bomb’s exploded but I think they got out alive. Their helicopters are coming for them.”

Jabir laughed. “No matter. They have been deceived. It is enough of a victory for one day. Tomorrow, they shall all die. Well done, Shafiq. Come and join us. We shall watch them die together.”

Shafiq put the phone back into his pocket and leapt over the wall. Clambering onto his dirt bike, he kick-started it and gunned the throttle. The buzz of the two-stroke engine echoed through the valley. He switched on the headlamp and headed north, tyres kicking dust. He was looking forward to tomorrow. His uncle’s plan would make headline news around the world. Jabir Hassani would be famous. And he, young Shafiq, had played his part. He felt proud. But as he tore up a rough trail, something bothered him. Despite being certain he’d followed his uncle’s orders precisely, deep down he had the feeling he’d forgotten to do something; something important.

“There’s a leak. Jabir knew we were assigned to the rescue mission, general,” Connor complained angrily. “Either he’s able to intercept our comms traffic, or some of those ANA who wander in and out of Camp Delta are passing on information.”

General Patterson squirmed in his chair. “We’ll tighten security.”

“A bit late for that! And you say the president’s read my report but still insists on delivering his speech this evening. Does he want to die? He’s crazy. Why can’t he make his speech from somewhere else, somewhere safe?”

Unable to offer an explanation, Patterson shrugged. “At least he’s agreed to wear body armour, and he’ll be surrounded by both our guys and his most trusted bodyguards. Press access is restricted, and we’ll have drones and snipers covering the whole area. When the time comes we’ll also jam all mobile phone signals for a radius of three kilometres, so there’s no chance of remote detonation of a hidden bomb.”

“It isn’t enough, sir. I know Jabir.”

“Listen, major, you’re tired and you and your men are beat up. You need to rest. When all is said and done, we can only do so much. The Afghan president accepts that he’s the one making the final call. And, anyway, don’t you think it’s possible that Jabir is messing with us?”

Exasperated, Connor slammed his fist on the general’s desk, scattering the neatly set out line of pens and pencils. “No. The president’s the target. I’m sure of it.”

Connor had overstepped the mark. The general’s expression darkened. “You’re dismissed, major. Get some shut-eye. That’s an order. It’s ten o’clock now. We’ll review the latest intel at 1500 hours. The president isn’t making his speech until 1900 hours, so there’s still time to try to figure out exactly what’s going on here.”

Connor had been to visit Danny and Ben in the medical centre. They’d been pretty knocked about in the bomb blast, but the docs had given them the all-clear for operations. Now he lay on his bunk in his tent. The stifling heat was almost overwhelming and sweat glistened from every pore of his skin. No way could he sleep, despite being exhausted. Tossing and turning, Jabir’s grinning face occupied his thoughts alongside the nightmarish image of the headless corpses of Khalid and Baxter. Over and over, he tried to figure out how Jabir planned to assassinate the Afghan president.

By revealing the target, Jabir would surely realise that no one could get anywhere near the president. A Taliban sniper would either have to be fantastically well hidden or would be too far away to guarantee the shot. Connor pressed his eyes shut and thought about how he would pull off what seemed impossible.