Gayle hadn’t seen anyone like that, but there were still a couple of minutes until the meeting was supposed to take place. After Jones had paid for their groceries they walked to the next stall. Gayle was a big fan of Asian cooking, and the selection of spices and herbs on show almost made her forget her mission. The heady aroma was to die for, and she envisaged the wonderous meals she could concoct with the wide variety of delicious options in front of her.
‘Choose quickly,’ Jones said, bringing Gayle back to reality. ‘We have to go.’
Gayle pointed to a spice, and Jones purchased a small amount. As they walked away from the stall and towards the cafe, Gayle noticed a black SUV pulling up. The rear doors opened and two men with AK-47s stepped out. After looking around, one of them muttered something and stood back. Gayle watched an elderly but spritely figure emerge from the vehicle and knew it must be the man they were waiting for.
The mission had been nerve-wracking to this point, but this was the moment that really counted. Gayle knew that if she screwed this up, it would cost her dearly. Not just her, but Jones, too. They would undoubtedly lose their lives, as well as the chance to snare such a valuable prize as Abdul al-Hussain.
Composing herself, Gayle adjusted her grip on the bag she was holding. A slit had been cut in the side, and up to now she had been holding it in such a way that the contents were safe. Along with Jones, she approached the rear of the vehicle. Timing would be crucial, and although she’d practiced this a few times already, there was no telling if the contents of the shopping bag would behave as she wanted them to. There was little she could do about that. If the opportunity didn’t present itself, her orders were to back off rather than push a bad position—there would be other chances to capture the warlord.
Gayle didn’t want to consider that option. It would represent failure, and that wasn’t a label she was prepared to have pinned to her. She might be nervous, but she told herself that was normal. It certainly wasn’t an excuse to quit.
She inhaled slowly through her nostrils, then let it breeze out even slower between her lips.
They crossed the road, aiming for the vehicle’s rear corner, with Jones to Gayle’s right. Gayle could see the driver’s reflection in the side mirror, and he seemed to be staring at her. She could feel his eyes burning into her flesh, but she kept going, just an innocent woman waddling along with her shopping. To stop now would be to admit her guilt. She was five yards from the SUV—she had to make a decision; go or no-go.
Gayle decided to risk it. Worst case, she wouldn’t be able to attach the device. If that was the case, she’d regret it, but still be alive.
Two yards from the SUV, she let go of the side of the bag. Fruit immediately spilled to the ground, and Jones let out a cry of frustration. Gayle had her eyes on the vehicle’s mirror, and she saw the driver grin maliciously at her misfortune, then to her great relief, he turned away.
Gayle got down on her hands and knees and started to gather her purchases, some of which had thankfully rolled underneath the SUV. It gave her the perfect opportunity to slip the small tracker from her waistband and attach it to the underside of the chassis. Satisfied that it was firmly in place, she picked up a couple of potatoes and put them into a spare bag she’d brought along.
Once all of the produce had been recovered, Gayle and Jones walked past the driver’s open window, with Jones remonstrating with Gayle for being so clumsy. They were a few yards past the vehicle when the door snatched open.
‘You! Wait!’
The blood in Gayle’s veins turned to ice—her first thought was the sidearm in the holster under her left arm. Was there time to draw, turn, aim and fire? In these clothes, probably not, but what choice did she have?
‘Hey!’
Before Gayle could make a decision, Jones stopped then slowly turned to face the driver. Gayle put her shopping down, as if glad of the chance to shed the weight temporarily. Her right arm slipped inside the slit cut in her clothing, reaching for the service pistol she'd never once fired in combat. Her hand tightened around the grip as she flicked off the restraining clasp with her thumb. She would have to remove the safety and draw in one movement—something she'd never practised.
‘You dropped this.’
Gayle heard Jones thank the man, and realised she’d been holding her breath. She let it out with a sigh, then released her grip on the weapon. Looking back, she saw the driver hand Jones an apricot. Jones thanked him and opened her bag so that he could drop it in, then turned back to Gayle and admonished her for not picking up all the fruit she’d dropped. Gayle made conciliatory noises, then picked up her own shopping. They walked away from the vehicle; Gayle’s legs quivering from the fright. Once they were around the corner, Gayle felt her shoulders relax. The car that had dropped them off was waiting, and they put their shopping in the trunk and climbed into the back seat.
‘Just a walk in the park,’ Jones said.
Gayle managed a laugh as the adrenaline from the mission coursed through her. ‘Yeah, Jurassic Park… at midnight… three days into the feeders’ strike!’
The driver, an interpreter seconded from the Afghan National Army, steered the car towards the base while Gayle called in to confirm the mission’s success.
* * *
The radio next to Durden’s computer screen squawked into life, and Lieutenant Gayle’s voice fizzled through loudly, confirming the tracker was in place. Durden checked the screen in front of him and saw the green blinking light overlaid on a digital map, right next to the meeting point.
Gotcha!
Despite a desire to send in a battalion to wipe al-Hussain from the planet, Durden forced himself to be patient. A busy marketplace wasn’t the right environment. For one, there were too many escape routes, and even if he covered them all off, there was still a risk that civilians could get caught up in the fight. With the tracker where he wanted it, he could allow himself the luxury of choosing the time and place. It would have to be soon, though; the tracker had a finite battery life.
With the head cut off the snake, the war in Afghanistan would soon be over; allowing US interests to step in and make a fortune from the rebuilding process. Not that it would mean an end to his time in the Middle East. There would be other wars to fight; Libya, Syria, Yemen all ripe for sowing the seeds of discontent.
The door to his office burst open and two pissed-off soldiers marched in.
‘Ah, Gentlemen. Perfect timing. How do you like the idea of paying Abdul al-Hussain a visit?’
‘Based on Sentinel’s intel?’ Tom Gray asked. ‘No thanks. If he was genuine, he’d have given you advanced warning about the attack on Vincent. The guy’s playing you.’
‘I know,’ Durden told him. ‘And he just led us right to the main man himself. I’ll know where al-Hussain lives in the next twenty-four hours. Once it’s confirmed, he’s all yours.’
Their brows unfurrowed. Gray, however, was still sceptical.
‘So how did you find him?’
Durden explained how he’d downloaded software onto Sentinel’s phone and told them about the mission that had just successfully concluded. He didn’t add that he’d suspected Sentinel from the beginning, not after having sent these men on missions based on his word. He also couldn’t tell them that the satellite used to watch over Dagher had been available to him all along, otherwise they would have seen that most of the missions based on Sentinel’s intel were bogus. If they hadn’t taken on the missions, Sentinel would have known he wasn’t trusted, and they would be no closer to finding the elusive al-Hussain.
‘If he’s still there, we can go in now,’ Gray said.
Although he admired the man’s attitude, Durden could see that Gray was spent. They both were. After two firefights in the last six hours, he couldn’t blame them.
‘No. The risk of collateral damage is too high. And if he manages to escape he’ll know we were on to him and we might not get another chance. Let him continue to think he’s safe and we’ll strik
e when he least expects it. Besides, I need you guys fresh when you take him out. You look wrecked, and that’ll lead to mistakes.’
‘We’re fine,’ Gray assured him.
‘You may think so, but I’m not prepared to risk it. Get some sleep.’
‘He’s right,’ Balmer said to Gray. ‘He’s probably got lookouts all around the town. One sniff of us and he’ll go to ground.’ He turned to Durden. ‘What about Sentinel? Do we get him, too?’
‘Just as soon as al-Hussain is out of the way. I already have an address for him, so you can pick him up as soon as you’ve got the main target.’
‘What’s the objective?’ Gray asked. ‘Dead or alive?’
‘For al-Hussain? Alive would be nice, but you’ll be the guys on the ground. Not my job to second guess you.’
‘But it was with Dagher,’ Balmer pointed out.
Durden shook his head. ‘Yes, but that was an exception. Way above my pay grade. This time, it’s up to you.’
‘Will there be eyes on?’
‘No. Just you guys and a Pave Hawk if you need it.’
The two men exchanged a look. ‘Okay. Let us know as soon as you have his location.’
Durden expected them to be parting words, but Gray fixed his gaze on the wall to Durden’s right. He looked like he had something to get off his chest.
Durden followed the soldier’s eyes and saw the photograph of Miriam Dagher that was still pinned to the board. ‘What is it?’
‘Nothing,’ Gray said. ‘I was just thinking about the people who have died because of her.’
Durden wasn’t so sure. Gray seemed conflicted, like he was holding something back. Before he could press the soldier further though, the two men abruptly turned and left.
Perhaps Gray was just curious as to why they wanted her out alive.
Durden was wondering the same thing.
Chapter 31
A plume of dust on the horizon signalled the imminent arrival of a vehicle.
‘This has to be him,’ Gray muttered.
It was about time, too. They’d been lying up on the hillside a mile from the farmhouse for almost two straight days. Durden’s prediction that he’d have the location of al-Hussain’s residence within twenty-four hours had been on the optimistic side, and it had been three days before he’d given the go-ahead to pick up the warlord. That was only after the house had been photographed from every angle by airborne assets and the occupants categorised. Once it was confirmed that al-Hussain lived there and wasn’t just visiting, Gray and Balmer had been given the green light.
It had been half an hour too late.
While they were heading for the chopper, a drone had seen al-Hussain’s black SUV and another vehicle leave the house, and instead of immediately calling them back, Durden had left the decision to Gray. He’d decided to take advantage of the situation and use the time to recce the layout of the house and surrounding areas. The first thing he’d done was have a two-man team watch over the only road that led to the farm to give advance warning of al-Hussain’s return. He’d then gone with Balmer to check out the house.
MQ-1 Predator drones had been watching the place since al-Hussain first turned up, and in addition to the warlord, they had seen two children, two women and five armed men. With al-Hussain and his bodyguards gone, they looked like any other family going about their daily business. They tended the crops and fed and watered the livestock as if being descended upon by the world’s finest elite soldiers was the last thing on their minds.
‘I think we should take him out before he gets back to the house,’ Balmer whispered, even though they were hundreds of yards from the nearest set of ears.
Gray had been thinking the same thing. Al-Hussain and his men were all viable targets, but Gray didn’t like the idea of killing him in front of his family. There was nothing to gain apart from evolving the hate towards Westerners and perpetuating that vicious cycle. The alternative was to kill everyone there, but Gray wasn’t in the business of taking the lives of women and children. He was glad to hear that Balmer felt the same way.
‘Agreed. Let’s scope out a suitable ambush point.’
They formulated a plan. The location was almost a mile from the farm, nestled in a shallow valley. Claymore mines had been set in two places. One was buried beneath the track that led to al-Hussain’s home, while the other was nestled among a pile of rocks facing the road. They were working on the assumption that al-Hussain would be in the black SUV, and they wanted the other vehicle and its occupants out of the fight as soon as possible. The warlord himself was to be taken alive.
In addition to the Claymores, Gray had positioned two snipers so that they could take out either driver. Jeff Campbell would focus on the lead car, while Liebowitz from Delta Force had the job of disabling the vehicle at the rear. The rest of the men were close enough to deal with anyone who managed to survive the initial assault.
It was another ten minutes before the vehicles were clearly visible. They were still a couple of miles away, but through his binoculars Gray could make out the black SUV behind the Toyota truck. He passed this information on to the team and received clicks in acknowledgement.
Gray had control of the clacker that would detonate the Claymore facing the road. It was all a matter of timing. And while the explosive had a lethal range of fifty metres, he wanted the vehicle to be closer than that. Thirty would be optimum, certainly close enough to incapacitate the driver. Balmer was in charge of the second Claymore, situated a hundred yards down the road.
When the small convoy eventually drew closer, Gray judged the speed of the lead vehicle at about thirty miles an hour, limited by the rough terrain. That would make his task much easier. He watched the Toyota drive over the first Claymore, with the SUV about ten yards behind it. Gray had already chosen a spot to detonate the anti-personnel mine, and the moment the truck reached that point he squeezed the clacker.
The explosion rocked the valley. A cloud of debris enveloped the Toyota, but it seemed to have little effect on the vehicle. It continued down the road as if the blast had been nothing but a minor inconvenience, and Gray was worried that he might have detonated the mine too soon. But his fears were allayed when it veered off the road and nose-dived into a gully. The rear end of the truck was protruding into the road, blocking it. The Toyota was hit by a vicious volley of fire, and the two men in the rear were dead before they could even consider mounting a defence.
The driver of the SUV threw it into reverse and dashed backwards, only to be stopped by a second explosion that ripped a hole in the road. He slammed on his brakes, but before he could put the vehicle in first, a round from Liebowitz’s rifle took off the top of his head, leaving a blood-stained mess on the side window. The remaining bodyguard opened the driver’s door and kicked the body out, but before he could get settled behind the wheel, he too succumbed to Liebowitz’s marksmanship.
Silence fell over the scene, with just one man remaining in the back seat of the SUV. Gray could see him sitting motionless.
‘Have you got the shot?’ Gray asked Liebowitz. He heard three clicks in his ear, confirming that the Delta Force sniper had al-Hussain in his sights.
The figure in the vehicle leaned over and picked something up from the front seat. Gray could see that it was an AK.
‘Take it.’
* * *
Abdul al-Hussain knew that one day he would die. It came to everyone, and it was only with the blessings of Allah that he had been able to reach such a ripe age. He didn’t expect it to happen like this, though—trapped like a rat in a cage. It had to be Western troops, but there was no time to wonder how they’d found him. If someone had given his location to the Americans, he would never learn who it was. Even in the afterlife, he would not be able to face his betrayer; Allah wouldn’t allow such a treasonous snake into Heaven.
All that remained for him was to choose his way of transitioning to Allah’s kingdom. They would no doubt want him alive so that they could interr
ogate him, but there was no way he would talk. They would turn to torture for the information in his head, and though he was no stranger to pain, there were other methods such as psychotropic drugs that might loosen his tongue. He couldn’t allow that. If they found out where the training camps were located, or the stores of virus Dagher had prepared for him…
He lightly shook his head and muttered a prayer. There was only one way out now. And that was with a rifle in his hand and God in his heart.
He leaned over to the front seat and picked up the AK-47, then sat back and cradled it to his chest, reassured by the familiar weight. It had been a long time since he’d fired one, but his finger wrapped itself around the trigger while his thumb instinctively nudged the fire selector from safety to fully automatic. No point going to semi-automatic, as there was no need to conserve his ammunition; he’d be dead well before the magazine was empty. Better to get out and spray as many bullets as he could, in the hope that one of them might find its mark.
His head was suddenly filled with images of his family. What would become of them? His wife, he knew, would not remarry, and his children would grow up with such a hatred of his killers that their destinies were already assured. He felt no anguish at the thought of never seeing them again, just a warm glow in his chest as if Allah was calling him.
Al-Hussain put his left hand on the door lever, but that was as far as he got. The side window shattered and he was punched back into his seat. He tried to bring up his weapon, but his right arm refused to obey him, and his eyes went to the source of the burning pain. His shoulder was wrecked; blood seeping out of a gaping hole that revealed flesh and bone.
Movement caught his eye, and al-Hussain saw three figures with weapons raised advancing on the SUV. He transferred the rifle to his left hand, but before he could take aim, another bullet pierced into him. His left collarbone exploded, and his arm dangled hopelessly by his side. Stunned by his injuries, he was helpless as the door yanked open and he was pulled out of the vehicle by his hair. He landed heavily on the ground, lightning bolts of pain shooting through his body.
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