by Chris Ryan
‘Hey,’ Guerrero interrupted. ‘If we’re talking drones and fast air, I’d say now was a pretty good time to get the hell out of here.’
As usual, he was right. The firefight had been noisy. It could have alerted anyone in the vicinity. They ran back to the Hilux and took their places again. Barak was visibly shaken up: his silver hair was ruffled and there were beads of sweat on his forehead. Guerrero hit the gas. They drove round the two shot-up vehicles and past the corpses on the ground. The GPS unit indicated they were still heading in the right direction. ‘Do you know anywhere else we can lie up?’ Danny asked Barak tersely.
Barak’s air of confidence had left him. ‘No,’ he said. ‘This is the way I always go.’
Danny looked back over his shoulder. There was no sign of lights or anyone following them. ‘What’s your call, friend?’ Guerrero said.
Danny gave it a few seconds’ thought. ‘Keep going,’ he said. ‘We’ll head for the lying-up point. Anyone follows us, we’ll deal with them.’
Guerrero nodded. ‘For what it’s worth, I agree.’ The team continued through the Syrian night in tense, unfriendly silence.
If the unit was being tracked, they couldn’t tell. They met no vehicles and passed no settlements. It didn’t put Danny at ease. Someone might be watching them by more covert methods, and they wouldn’t know about it. It was a relief to reach the lying-up point, but it was also a concern. While they were a moving target, they were more difficult to hit. Motionless, they could be sitting ducks.
At least the LUP was acceptable. Barak’s GPS coordinates had led them to a wadi, a dried-up river bed in theory, although it had a narrow stream of water trickling down its centre at this time of the year. It had cliff-like banks, four metres high, and deep overhangs where it was possible to conceal themselves. And Guerrero was able to enter the wadi by means of a tributary stream that led down on to the river bed. From the confluence, they continued 150 metres along the wadi and parked up where the overhang was particularly deep. Guerrero backed up against the side wall, ready to leave in a hurry if necessary, then killed the engine. He looked round at the unit. ‘This hasn’t gone the way we wanted,’ he said, ‘but we have to suck it up. Any of you guys don’t feel you’re part of the team any more, say the word and you can walk back to Lebanon.’
It was clear who his words were directed at. Rollett said nothing. Danny grunted his agreement. ‘We need to keep stag,’ he said. ‘Two hours on, two hours off. Me and Ludlow will go first.’
There was no argument. Danny and Ludlow exited the vehicle and headed in opposite directions away from the Hilux. Danny took up position behind a boulder that was almost as tall as the overhang. From that position, he could see back along the way they’d come, towards the tributary. He hunkered down to keep watch.
It was cold. He could feel the chill air in his lungs. The moon had set and here, in the overhang of the wadi, it was pitch dark. Every few minutes he made use of the NV sight on his AK-47 to scan the area, but there was no movement. They were, so far as he could tell, alone and unwatched.
Two hours passed slowly. A grey dawn was breaking when Guerrero quietly approached. ‘You’d better get some z’s, friend,’ he said.
Danny was glad to be relieved. He was about to trudge back to the Hilux when he stopped. He’d heard something. A dull, clunking sound. It was on the terrain above them. ‘You hear that?’ he whispered.
Guerrero nodded tersely. They stood still, listening hard. The sound had stopped. For a full thirty seconds there was silence. Danny was on the point of walking away again when the sound returned. It was a little louder this time, and more than a single clunk. Several: dull, and semi-melodious.
‘Livestock?’ Guerrero said.
Danny nodded.
‘Maybe they’ll walk on by,’ Guerrero suggested.
‘Maybe,’ Danny said. ‘Maybe not.’ He pointed at the narrow stream of water trickling down the middle of the wadi. Livestock needed water. If some local shepherd or goatherd was leading them across this rough terrain, there was every chance they would lead their animals down into the wadi to drink.
Ludlow’s voice came over the comms system. ‘We got company . . .’
‘Roger that,’ Danny said. ‘Hold your positions. They might just carry on.’ As he spoke, a man’s voice drifted over the wadi. It was musical, like a chant, the voice of an old man singing to his animals. So far as Danny could tell, the voice’s owner was almost exactly above the overhang.
And then there was a second voice: the voice of a child.
Danny and Guerrero exchanged a long look. Having a kid in the mix changed things.
The noise moved on. The clunking of the livestock’s bells faded and the old man’s voice drifted into nothingness. Danny stayed there with Guerrero, but he relaxed a little. And when, after half an hour, there was no sign or sound of the livestock, the man or the kid, he returned to the Hilux, lay out on the hard floor behind its rear wheels, and closed his eyes.
Two hours later he was on stag again. Two hours after that, sleeping. The day passed uneventfully, regulated by these metronomic two-hour periods, until the sun started to set.
And that was when the sound of the old man’s melodious voice returned.
As before, Danny had just reached the end of his watch. The wadi was flooded with the intense red light of a Syrian dusk. The sound of the voice drifted towards him on the still air. He could tell from its direction that the old man was already on the wadi floor. He spoke into his comms. ‘There’s someone in the wadi.’
‘Who is it?’
‘Wait out.’ He had just seen movement. Three goats appeared in his field of view, about thirty metres distant. Another four followed and then, in traditional dress, his back slightly bent and a staff in his hand, came the goatherd. He called to the goats in that chanting voice, and they seemed to obey his command, trotting in a line towards the stream that ran along the centre of the wadi. As the animals drank, the goatherd sat on a boulder. He unwrapped something from a pack on his back – food – and started to eat. Then another figure appeared, half the goatherd’s height. It must be the kid he’d heard that morning, Danny thought to himself. The goatherd offered the child some food, but the offer was not accepted. Instead, the boy started wandering along the stream in the unit’s direction, occasionally kicking the water into a shower.
‘Shit,’ Danny whispered.
Guerrero: ‘What is it?’
‘The old boy’s staying put with the goats, but we’ve got a child walking our way.’
‘Fuck it.’ Rollett’s voice. ‘Take them both out.’
‘No.’ Danny and Guerrero contradicted him in unison.
‘He’s just some Syrian kid,’ Rollett said. ‘He’ll probably be bombed to fuck before his next birthday anyway. We should nail both of them before they have a chance to bollocks things up for us.’
Danny found himself sneering in distaste at Rollett’s words. He wasn’t shocked. He’d met plenty of guys in his line of work who wouldn’t think twice about shooting a kid. It didn’t mean he had to agree with them. He’d seen children being killed in Syria last time he was here. He wasn’t about to add to their number if he didn’t have to, and he was glad that Guerrero seemed to agree with him. ‘Hold your fire,’ he said.
The kid was wandering further up the wadi. Distance: twenty metres. He was humming something as he kicked the water, and was clearly oblivious to the four concealed men, heavily armed, who were watching him. Oblivious, that is, until he was ten metres from Danny’s position, when he looked up and peered along the wadi. He squinted, not in Danny’s direction, but at the Hilux which he had obviously just seen parked up under the overhang. He inclined his head for a minute, then shouted out and sprinted back towards the goatherd.
‘Put him down!’ Rollett said into the comms.
‘HOLD YOUR FIRE!’ Danny shouted. And because he knew they were compromised and couldn’t tell what Rollett’s next move was likely to be, he burst
out from his hiding place behind the boulder and chased after the kid.
The boy was wiry and fast, but not as fast as Danny, who grabbed him when he was ten metres from the goatherd, quelled his wriggling arms with one hand, and put the other over his mouth to stop his screams. The goats were agitated: they bleated anxiously and crowded away from the water where they’d been drinking. The old goatherd jumped to his feet with surprising speed and shouted out in alarm. But he quickly fell silent, because running towards him, their weapons engaged, were Guerrero, Ludlow and Rollett.
Danny kept hold of the kid while the three others descended on the goatherd. Rollett got to him first, lowered his weapon and grabbed him round the neck with the crook of his arm. Danny sensed that the old man was suffering from Rollett’s disappointment at not being able to make a kill. Whatever. They had some decisions to make. He looked over at the goats. They each had a length of rope around their necks. ‘Tether them,’ he told Ludlow. ‘We’ll get these two back to the Hilux. We need Barak to translate.’
After their initial struggle, the old goatherd and the boy quickly became compliant. Danny and Rollett dragged them up the wadi with Guerrero close behind. They found Barak anxiously wringing his hands by the Hilux, his silver hair faintly pink in the light of the setting sun. Guerrero threw the goatherd to the ground. Danny went easier on the kid, who scurried up to the old man, tears in his face. He looked back at Danny in absolute terror and for an uncomfortable moment Danny was reminded of Bethany’s son, Danny Jr, back in the UK. He wanted to give the kid some reassurance, but that wasn’t possible: for now, they needed to be frightened. ‘Ask them where they live,’ Danny told Barak, ‘and when they’re expected back home.’
Barak put the question. The old man answered in a terrified stutter. ‘Ten hours’ walk from here,’ Barak translated. ‘Their family expect them back tomorrow night. They were going to sleep the night here in the wadi, then carry on in the morning.’
Danny turned to Guerrero. ‘You believe him?’ he asked.
‘Who knows, friend?’ Guerrero said.
‘Who cares, more like,’ Rollett said. ‘We should just nail them now, then get out of here. If we let them go, first thing they’re going to do is leg it to the nearest settlement and raise the alarm.’
‘He’s got a point,’ Guerrero said, and Danny had to concede that he was right. Rollett’s solution was a simple one. The ex-SBS man had a fierce glint in his eyes as he waited for the others to come round to his opinion.
‘Put your weapon down,’ Danny said quietly.
‘Fuck’s sake,’ Rollett spat. ‘Guerrero?’
‘Put it down,’ the Yank said.
With two of his unit against him, Rollett didn’t have a choice. He lowered his weapon. ‘What’s the plan, friend?’ Guerrero said.
Danny thought it through. If he was going to leave the old man and the boy here, he couldn’t leave them alone to escape and raise the alarm. He didn’t want to leave Guerrero with them, because of all the members of the unit, the Yank was the one whose abilities and temperament he trusted the most, and who he wanted by his side. And he couldn’t leave Rollett or Ludlow here for the opposite reason: he didn’t trust them to do what he said, and keep their captives alive.
Which left Barak.
The fixer was watching Danny intently. Danny had the feeling that their Lebanese guide knew what conclusion he’d come to. Barak frowned, looked down at the goatherd and the boy, then back at Danny.
‘It’s two hours to the target, right?’ Danny said to Guerrero.
‘On a good run,’ Guerrero said. ‘Three max.’
‘And we can navigate it without Barak?’
‘If we have to.’
Danny turned to Barak. ‘You know what I’m going to ask you?’
‘I have an idea.’
‘I want you to stay here with these two. We’re going to tie them up, but you need to make sure they keep quiet. We’ll pick you up on the way back. When we return to Beirut, I’ll see you get paid triple.’
Barak contemplated the suggestion. He had a calculating expression that Danny didn’t quite like, but Danny’s choices were limited.
‘Do I have a choice?’
‘Sure,’ Danny said. ‘We do it this way, or our new friends have an early night.’ He removed his handgun and pointed it at the old man and the boy.
Barak winced. ‘The goats will make a noise,’ he said. ‘What if they attract people?’
Danny turned to Rollett. ‘You got a knife?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Deal with the goats.’
Rollett didn’t need telling twice. He marched off down the wadi. Barak watched him go with a slightly sick expression.
‘Have you got what we need to restrain them?’ he asked Guerrero.
Guerrero nodded and headed over to the Hilux.
Danny was alone with the two hostages and Barak. ‘We’re going to head further up the wadi and find you a better place to hide,’ Danny said. ‘We’ll gag these two to keep them quiet. There’ll be no reason for anyone to find you. We’ll be back some point tomorrow night. If you’re here, you get paid. If you’re not here, or I get any hint that you’ve revealed our destination to anybody, you’ll go the way of the goats. Do we understand each other?’
Barak plainly didn’t like being spoken to in this way, but he didn’t flounce off like he had at the disused training camp. He simply jutted out his jaw and said: ‘We understand each other.’
It was almost dark now. A goat squealed on the edge of Danny’s hearing, then fell silent. Guerrero returned with cable ties and masking tape. He wrapped the tape around the mouth and head of the old man and the boy, then bound their wrists behind their backs. He and Danny forced them further up the wadi, with Barak accompanying them. A hundred and fifty metres further along they found a crevice in the wall of the wadi, big enough to take them all. They forced the hostages into it, then cable-tied their ankles. The old man was frail, the kid tearful and terrified. It was grim work, but Danny told himself this was the only way their hostages could stay alive. It was a temporary measure, then they could go home.
Guerrero and Danny shook hands with Barak. His palm was clammy and he wouldn’t look Danny in the eye. ‘You still don’t trust him?’ Guerrero said as they hurried back down the wadi towards the Hilux.
Danny didn’t have an answer to that. This was their only option, if they weren’t going to nail the old man and the kid.
It was fully dark now. They continued to where Ludlow had been tethering the goats. Rollett had slaughtered them all. He and Ludlow had hidden six of the corpses in crevices around the wadi. As Danny and Guerrero approached, they were dragging the seventh along the wadi. Danny watched them stuff the dead beast into a hole on the far side of the stream. Their hands and clothes were smeared in goat blood when they returned, but it didn’t seem to bother them. ‘We’re making a fucking mistake,’ Rollet said. ‘We should kill the Syrians and take Barak with us.’
‘Not happening,’ Danny told him. ‘We’re doing this my way or not at all.’ He checked his watch. It was 20.03 hrs. ‘We leave at midnight. That gets us on target somewhere between 02.00 and 03.00. I want to catch my guy while he’s sleeping. If we’re quick, we can get back to the wadi before sunrise.’
‘Personally I want to catch your guy while these IS militant guards you’re expecting are sleeping,’ Guerrero said. Danny had to agree with that. ‘I think it’s about time you told us a bit more about what’s going on, friend.’
The three men stared at Danny. They were on edge, and Danny knew he couldn’t get away with keeping them entirely in the dark. Nor did he feel comfortable telling them everything. ‘The target’s name is Adnan Abadi,’ he said. ‘He has historic links to IS, and I think he might know the location of a guy I’m trying to find.’
‘Who’s the guy you’re trying to find?’ Rollett asked.
‘I can’t tell you that. I’m sorry.’
‘Is it something to do wit
h Ollie Moorhouse?’ Ludlow asked.
‘What makes you think that?’ Danny said carefully.
‘You shut me down pretty quick when I asked about him earlier. So is it?’
Danny nodded. He was surprised Ludlow had managed to join the dots. There was a pause, then Ludlow said: ‘That’s good enough for me.’
‘Who’s Ollie Moorhouse?’ Rollett said.
‘Ex-Regiment guy,’ Ludlow said. ‘Turned up dead a few days ago.’
‘What’s the chick got to do with it?’ Guerrero asked.
All eyes were on Danny. ‘We think she’s next on the list. I can’t tell you any more. I’m sorry. But I do know that when we get there, Abadi’s going to be reluctant to talk. We won’t have much time. We’ll have to be persuasive.’
‘Oh, I think we can be persuasive, friend,’ Guerrero said. He looked back towards the Hilux. ‘I say we get some food inside us. Nothing I hate more than fighting IS scumbags on an empty stomach.’
‘Roger that,’ Ludlow growled. Since learning they were on the trail of someone who’d nailed an SAS guy, he had a new eagerness about him. And even Rollett seemed less surly all of a sudden.
Together, the unit returned to the Hilux, ate cold MREs, and prepared for the next part of their journey.
15
Beirut. 11.15 p.m.
For Bethany, the day had passed in a meditative trance. She ate small amounts, and regularly. She spent the rest of her time lying on her bed, breathing deeply, keeping her mind clear and her heart rate down.
The hotel was quieter during the day than at night. It was getting noisy again now. The slamming of doors, the shouting of voices. To her relief the reception guy seemed to have got the message, and hadn’t banged on her door since she’d sent him away the previous night. She wondered if he’d tried it on with any other guests. Probably not, she thought to herself. This wasn’t the sort of place where women routinely stayed by themselves.