Nodding slowly, Connor broke free from the padre’s grip. “Yes. Almost three years ago. I was in Iraq at the time.”
“I see. Must’ve been very difficult for you, especially so far away from home. Listen, if you need to talk, Major, I’m always here, 24-7.”
“Thanks, but that won’t be necessary, sir.”
Connor strode back towards the Ops Room filled with a renewed determination to find Hassan.
The padre flipped open his notebook and wrote: “Major Connor — early signs of instability. Possibly battle fatigue but more likely personal matters, maybe elements of post-traumatic stress. Keep a close eye on him.”
CHAPTER NINE
Captured
Foothills of Afghan mountains
For three days and nights Hassan followed the Taliban as they moved from village to village. There they collected food and negotiated deals for their drugs, to sell over the border or exchange for guns. At one stop they took two donkeys and used them to carry supplies. Hassan stole what little food he had to in order to survive.
They travelled on, keeping to hidden trails and deep gullies, and frequently they posted spotters. Hassan had to tread carefully, never getting too close or dropping back too far in case he lost sight of them.
Slowly the journey took him into the foothills. Tall mountains seemed to grow higher with every step. As he followed Masud and his men, Hassan drew his own map, marking villages and landmarks. He’d need it to find his way back. Hot days turned into freezing nights, and Hassan slept under the stars wrapped in his blanket. On the fourth morning he woke up aching all over. He shivered and cursed the Taliban with their warm campfires and steaming cups of tea. Around him lay barren rock and loose scree shrouded in the early morning mist. Suddenly he felt something prod his back. He rolled over. A young Taliban fighter stood over him holding an AK-47 rifle.
Hassan was dragged kicking and screaming to the Taliban’s overnight camp. He was taken straight to their leader — Masud.
“Why have you been following us?”
Hassan had to think fast. Masud clutched a knife and had evil in his eyes. “I want to join you,” Hassan lied, unconvincingly. The blade was quickly at his throat. Hassan flinched. “That’s the truth. I want to fight the American infidel. To kill them all.” This time he sounded more believable.
“What is your name?”
“Hassan, sir.”
The threatening expression on Masud’s face softened and then he grinned toothlessly. “Hassan, Hassan,” he repeated over and over. “You are a gift from Allah. You will have your chance to martyr yourself for our cause. We shall take you under our wing and teach you all we know. And for you, young Hassan, Paradise will come soon. Very soon.” He seized Hassan by the shoulder. “But first you can look after our stubborn donkeys for us. They don’t seem to share your enthusiasm.”
CHAPTER TEN
Scorpion Valley
Camp Delta
Blood. So much blood. Blood everywhere.
Connor woke in a sweat. Sparks was leaning over him. “Nate, are you all right?”
Blinking away the nightmare, Connor sat up on the edge of his camp bed. It was eight o’clock in the morning, and he could already feel the heat outside. “Yeah, I’m fine. What’s going on?”
“We think we’ve made a breakthrough.”
Connor and Sparks hurried over to Camp Delta’s Ops Room. The tables were littered with laptops, satellite photos, air reconnaissance pictures, maps, empty Coke cans and half-eaten pizzas. “We’ve been working all night, sir,” said a tired but beaming Danny Crow. “We’ve spoken to Army Intelligence, the CIA, and Central Command’s Comms section. We narrowed down the landing sites and reckon we’ve found it.”
Connor studied the maps and photographs that had been set out for him.
Crow pointed to the middle picture. “See that? The valley’s shaped like a scorpion’s tail. It opens up onto a plain where there’s a dried-up river bed. Now look at this picture taken two months ago. It’s different. Someone’s straightened out part of the river bed — like a landing strip. It’s located about forty miles from here.”
Connor could see it now and smiled. He remembered Abdul’s riddle about the scorpion’s tail in the north. “So where’s our bird?”
“Here, sir.” Danny tapped a finger. “There’s a massive rock overhang at the entrance to the valley. We think it’s hidden underneath, where there are also caves perfect for hiding all their gear. Guys over at Comms said they’re probably transmitting and controlling the drone from a mobile unit — like a truck.”
Ben added, “They chose the valley well. It is so narrow that an air strike is unlikely to work, even using deep penetration JDAM bombs, sir.”
Connor felt his cell phone vibrate. He took it out and checked the text message. Abdul had a possible address for Hassan’s uncle. Instantly, Connor’s mind drifted to thinking about Hassan.
“Sir?”
Connor saw his men looking at him expectantly. “Good work, team. This is our target. Now, let’s find our best insertion point — we go in tomorrow night and hit them hard at dawn. Jacko, you’re in charge of putting a plan together. Ben, inform General Patterson of our progress, and tell him that I’ll speak to him this evening, when I’m back.”
“Back from where?” asked Ben.
“I’ve got something to sort out.” Connor turned to Sparks. They’d fought together for over ten years, and were like brothers. “Sparks, I need your help. Fancy a little trip to the country, no questions asked?”
Sparks smiled. He didn’t know what Connor had planned, but he would always back him up.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Masud’s plan
Masud’s hidden base — Scorpion Valley
At first, Hassan prodded the stubborn donkeys with a stick, but gradually they became easier to lead. They were walking over a flattened river bed when suddenly Masud stopped, turned and announced, “We are here, Hassan. This is where you will live from now on. Come.”
Masud led Hassan into the shadows beneath a huge overhanging rock. There, Hassan gazed awestruck at the smooth grey paint of a Predator drone. Men moved busily to and fro carrying equipment to a parked truck that somehow they’d managed to drive across the rough terrain of the plain. Hassan couldn’t recall seeing anything resembling a road for miles.
Masud caressed the nose casing of a Hellfire missile. “You will share in our joy, Hassan. Soon, very soon, we shall strike at the heart of the American infidel. Their president, Hassan. He is coming here, and here he shall die. Just imagine. Men will see our victory and rise up. They will know that Allah is with us. We shall drive out the infidels. Our country will be free once more. And you, Hassan, will play your part. Now go and fetch me some tea.”
Hassan suddenly understood what had happened back home in his village. The Americans hadn’t attacked their own. It was the Taliban’s doing. They had blown up the soldiers on the rocky outcrop. It was Masud’s drone now. Moving beyond the overhang he saw numerous openings to caves. Inside, fires had been lit and men were cooking food, cleaning their rifles and planning operations. There were weapons everywhere: rifles, rocket-propelled grenades, boxes of ammunition. He counted maybe forty men in total, and heard various languages being spoken. Many had travelled far to fight for their cause. As he watched tea being poured, he began to plan his escape.
It would have to be at night. His map would show him the way. It had to. If he got lost he might starve or die of thirst. But would he get back in time to warn the Americans? It was a long way and he was already exhausted. I know, he thought, I shall take food, water and a donkey. I shall lead him from here quietly in the dead of night and ride him down through the foothills.
Hassan knew that if they caught him creeping away, Masud would kill him.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Tracing Hassan
Emil’s home, just outside Kandahar
Connor grabbed Hassan’s uncle by the throat. “What do you me
an Hassan’s disappeared?”
“Sir, go easy on him,” said Sparks, surprised at his commander’s loss of control.
Connor released his grip. “I’m not leaving until I’ve got some answers. Now, Emil, start talking, or you can kiss your opium crop goodbye.” He saw the look of horror on Emil’s face. “I’ll burn every last damn poppy — and I bet the Taliban offered you a good price? Yes, of course they did.”
“Please, there have been no Taliban here, sir. Not for six months. I hate the Taliban as much as you do.”
“So where’s Hassan?”
“What do you want with the boy? And how is it you know my name?”
Connor resisted the urge to strike the man with his fist. “I know you, Emil. And I never did like you. Not when we were kids. Not now. You and your brother Assif are like chalk and cheese. In my book the wrong man’s dead. Don’t you recognise me?”
Astonished and confused, Emil peered into Connor’s eyes. “Nathan? Nathan Connor?”
Connor ground his teeth and nodded. Even as boys they’d fought. He’d even once caught Emil stealing money from his father’s wallet. He didn’t trust the man standing before him further than he could throw him.
Emil threw up his arms. “All right, all right. Allah protect me, I’ll tell you, Nathan. Yes, the Taliban did come here. On the same night Hassan disappeared.”
“They took him?”
“No, Nathan. I think he ran away. I let slip that his father had been killed for collaborating with you Americans. The Taliban leader wanted the boy dead but I persuaded him to let him live. I said I needed his help here on the farm.”
“Then why did he run away?” Sparks asked, as confused as Connor was.
Emil diverted his eyes in shame. “They said they’d kill him on their return. The boy must’ve overheard.”
“Oh great!” Connor clenched his fist. “So he could be anywhere. Absolutely anywhere.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Delta Force move in
Masud’s hidden base — Scorpion Valley
As night fell Hassan was put to work serving food to the Taliban huddled around their campfires. He did what they asked. But he also listened to their plans; how the truck would be driven to within a few miles of Kandahar, and from there the drone would be controlled. He realised that they knew exactly when the American president would arrive and where he’d be during his visit.
It was after midnight before he managed to slip outside the cave. But before he could escape he heard footsteps. “Hassan?” It was Masud.
“Tell me about your family, Hassan, about your father. Is he one of us, too?” Masud had a tight hold of Hassan’s arm.
“He’s dead. He was a good man and I miss him.”
“Then you shall call me father. Come, it is late. Tomorrow I shall begin teaching you. But now you must sleep.”
Hassan had no choice. His escape would have to wait one more day.
The Black Hawk helicopter flew low and fast through the darkness. Using night-vision goggles the pilot climbed up the valley and hovered within metres of a narrow ledge. Connor and his team jumped out.
Delta Force’s insertion point was the valley next to their target. It reduced the chances of the Taliban hearing their helicopter approach. Quickly they made their way to a ridge above the base. Using infrared and thermal-imaging scopes attached to their helmets they scanned the scorpion-shaped valley beyond for signs of life. Up to this moment, Connor didn’t know if his team had correctly identified the Taliban base. But when he spotted two glowing specks — the body heat of Taliban lookouts — he knew they were in the right place. He sent Danny and Jacko to deal with them — silently.
“OK, Sam, you know what to do. Position yourself with a maximum field of fire,” said Connor.
Sam headed off, clutching his M110A1 semiautomatic 7.62mm sniper rifle.
Connor and the remainder of his team — Sparks and Ben — moved down the side of the valley. Each of them wore lightweight multihit body armour, and carried a modified M4 carbine. Connor’s had a visible laser marker, vertical forward grip, and quick detachable silencer. Sparks had gone for a tactical sight and silencer, while Ben opted for a shortened barrel and grenade launcher. It was five o’clock in the morning when they reached a gully close to the mouth of the valley. An hour later, Danny and Jacko rejoined them. Using their infrared scopes they could see beneath the rock overhang and make out the shapes of the Predator drone and truck. “Off you go, Sparks,” Connor whispered. “Ben, you go with him. We’ll cover you. Lay those explosive charges and set the timers for first light at precisely six forty-five.”
As Sparks and Ben crept off, Connor spoke into his tactical radio. “Command, this is Delta Force. Have located target bird. Party time is zero-sixfour- five. Please confirm air support, over.”
His radio crackled. “Roger that, Delta Force. Two DAP (Direct Action Penetrator) helicopter gunships will mop up and your evac will be by Black Hawk helicopter at previously agreed co-ordinates, over.”
Out of breath, Sparks returned twenty minutes later, Ben right on his heels. They rolled down into the gulley. “All set, sir.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Party time
Hassan was determined to make his escape. But there was a problem. One of Masud’s men blocked the cave’s exit. Hassan despaired but the urge to flee was strong. He didn’t want to spend another day shooting at tin cans and learning how to blow people up.
It wasn’t until nearly six o’clock in the morning that finally the young Taliban fighter appeared to fall asleep. Hassan got up and tiptoed outside, carrying his blanket. At least it was still dark, he thought. And quiet too. He made his way to where the donkeys were tethered. He slung his few possessions onto the back of the beast that had given him the least trouble on his journey to the camp. He led it away, stopping to prod its backside with a stick every time its stubbornness returned. Hassan prayed to Allah to keep him safe as he followed a winding path that led to a deep gulley. If he could just reach the gulley, with any luck he’d be able to leave the valley unseen, even after dawn. As he walked, he couldn’t help but feel all shaky, hollow-bellied, and sick. One wrong move, the slightest sound, and he’d be dead.
Pressed huddled against the dirt wall of the gulley, Connor and his team readied themselves, clicking off their safety catches and flipping up their night-vision aids. Sparks studied the second hand of his watch. The first glimmers of dawn lit the sky. He counted down the seconds… Ten… Nine… Eight… “Sir, it’s time to party.”
Beneath the rock overhang the explosives detonated, blasting fragments of the drone more than two hundred metres, accompanied by twisted parts of the Taliban’s truck. Connor issued the order to attack.
Rising up, he strained to see through the billowing clouds of dust, but as the air cleared the entrances to the nearby caves came into view. Taliban fighters streamed out of them like termites from a nest. Connor took aim and fired in short bursts. Danny Crow began shooting grenades from his modified rifle. From his elevated position higher up the side of the valley, Sam picked off the enemy, his double taps — two quick shots in a row — were deadly accurate.
Within thirty seconds the mayhem was joined by the rhythmical thwacking of helicopter rotor blades as two MH-60L DAP gunships flew in low and fast from the plain. Rockets streamed from their wing pods, and tracer fire flashed from their side-mounted miniguns. The valley was set alight with blinding and deafening explosions.
“Mission accomplished,” Connor shouted. “Start our withdrawal.” Into his radio he bellowed, “Sam, get your butt down to the evac co-ordinates, over.”
“Roger that, Major. I have a visual on our helo. ETA touchdown in one minute, over.”
A blast threw Hassan onto his belly. Dazed, he struggled to his feet while bullets fizzed past him. His donkey had bolted and Hassan knew he would have to catch the beast — he’d never escape without it. So he ran into the darkness, pumping his arms and forcing his legs to g
o faster.
Dust and smoke blew into the gulley like a sandstorm, and Hassan was quickly disorientated. But still he ran — and almost died of fright when he clattered into a figure crouching low. Hassan simply didn’t see him.
“Hassan, there you are.”
Blood oozed from a wound on Masud’s shoulder, but the Taliban leader still managed to grab Hassan’s arm tightly. He grinned toothlessly. “Come, boy, I know another way out of here.”
“No!” Hassan shrieked as he tried to break free.
“Don’t be afraid, little Hassan. You and I shall live to fight another day. Come with me, now, and don’t cry out. Come, come, there’s very little time.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Time to go
“Helo’s touching down, sir,” Ben shouted. “Time to evac.”
Connor had covered his men’s withdrawal, but was now staring into the grey-brown dust clouds filling the gulley. He could hear something odd. And it was coming towards him — fast. Snatching his rifle to his shoulder he took aim. “Get going, Ben, I’ll be right behind you.”
Connor’s finger caressed the trigger and then began to squeeze it as the shape emerged from the swirling blur and he recalled one of the best pieces of advice he’d ever been given — never, ever, trust an Afghan donkey.
The Taliban had many tricks, most learned during the mujahedin’s victory against the Russians back in the 1980s. A donkey laden with explosives was a favourite. Send it among the enemy and detonate it by remote control. Connor didn’t need to think twice. He drilled the beast with bullets.
As the donkey fell and rolled onto its back, the string broke and a goatskin filled with water burst. The rolled-up blanket unfurled and its contents spilled out. Connor saw a glint of something and was puzzled. Surely it couldn’t be what he thought it was.
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