Spider Shepherd 11 - White Lies

by Stephen Leather

  He was barely aware of passing three wooden doors with small barred windows at head height before they reached a barred gate. Sunlight streamed through the bars, blinding Raj. Mole unlocked the gate and pushed it open.

  The two men dragged Raj into a courtyard. He blinked in the blinding sun then focused on a group of men in camouflage fatigues with grey and white keffiyeh scarves wrapped around their faces. There was a wooden chair in front of them and Raj was thrown on to it. One of the masked men gave Mole a roll of duct tape and he used it to bind Raj to the chair. He was too exhausted to resist.

  Mahmud appeared from a doorway on the other side of the courtyard. He walked slowly towards Raj. He was wearing sunglasses but he removed them as he stood in front of Raj.

  ‘Are you ready to meet your maker, Raj?’

  Raj started hyperventilating, his nostrils flaring with every hasty breath.

  Mahmud waved a hand at the group of masked men. ‘They are prepared to cut off your head, Raj. They know you are a liar and a betrayer and that you deserve to die. Is that what you want, Raj? Do you want to die? Do you want to meet your maker as a liar and a betrayer?’

  ‘I just want to go home,’ said Raj. ‘I don’t know anything, I can’t tell you anything. I’m no use to you.’

  ‘That’s not true,’ said Mahmud. ‘There is much you can tell me, and telling me will go some way to making up for the lies you have told. You know what the Qur’an says about lying?’

  Raj kept staring at the ground.

  ‘And do not cloak the truth with falsehood,’ said Mahmud. ‘Do not suppress the truth knowingly.’ He placed his hand under Raj’s chin and gently lifted his head. ‘It is time to stop suppressing the truth, Raj. The truth is the only thing that will save you.’

  Raj tried to turn away but Mahmud gripped his chin so hard that his nails bit into his flesh. ‘Is this really how you want to die, Raj?’ he said.

  Raj stared back at him but didn’t answer. Eventually Mahmud released his grip on Raj’s chin. Tears were running down Raj’s face and he was finding it difficult to focus.

  ‘The members of your group here, are any of them spies for MI6?’ asked Mahmud.

  Raj said nothing.

  ‘It is a simple question, brother,’ said Mahmud.

  Raj was breathing heavily. He had been sure that he was about to be killed and was feeling light headed, as if his soul had left his body and had only partly returned. Nothing seemed real and he half expected to wake up at any moment and find himself back in his bedroom in London.

  ‘Listen to me, Raj,’ said Mahmud softly. ‘Listen to me carefully. I have given you enough time for reflection. You need to start talking to me now. You need to tell me everything. I know that you are an agent for MI6. I need you to tell me who else in your group is working for MI6.’

  He folded his arms and waited. Raj looked up at him.

  ‘We are all brothers here to learn how to fight the infidel,’ said Raj. ‘We are jihadists preparing to fight the good fight.’

  ‘The problem we have is that you are a bad apple, Raj. And a bad apple spoils the barrel. We can no longer trust the people you were training with. Perhaps they are also traitors. Or perhaps you have already betrayed them. Either way they are no use to us. Worse than that, they are liabilities. They can no longer be trusted.’

  He clicked his fingers and two men appeared from the doorway on the far side of the courtyard, dragging a third man. As they got closer, Raj realised it was Naseem. He was bare chested and his eyes were puffy and half closed. His hands had been tied behind his back and there were shackles binding his ankles.

  ‘You trained with Naseem, your brother from Bradford, and now he is a liability. He is a liability because of you, Raj. So you and you alone are responsible for what is about to happen.’

  Raj turned his head away. Mahmud gestured at Mole and he stepped forward and grabbed Raj’s hair, forcing him to face Naseem.

  Naseem was mumbling incoherently. His eyes were open but he didn’t seem to be aware of what was going on around him. One of the men holding him kicked Naseem’s legs from under him and he fell, hitting the ground hard. The men roughly pulled Naseem to a kneeling position.

  ‘You can stop this, Raj,’ said Mahmud. ‘Telling the truth will set him free.’

  Raj tried to turn away but the man behind him kept a tight grip on his hair. Raj closed his eyes. It was a test, he told himself. They wouldn’t kill Naseem. There would be no point. They were trying to scare him, that was all.

  ‘Open your eyes, Raj,’ said Mahmud. ‘Open your eyes or they will remove your eyelids with a knife.’

  Raj opened his eyes and blinked away tears.

  There was a tall, thin man standing behind Naseem, a long knife with a curved blade in his hand. The man’s face was wrapped in a shemagh, his eyes shielded by impenetrable sunglasses. The knife glinted in the sun as he raised it above his head.

  ‘Raj, take this opportunity to make things right,’ said Mahmud.

  Raj stared at the knife. They wouldn’t do it, he told himself. It was a test, that was all. They hadn’t gone through with their threat to behead him and they wouldn’t kill Naseem. They were only doing it to scare him. All he had to do was to keep protesting his innocence and they’d take him back to his cell.

  ‘Naseem is a good Muslim,’ said Raj. ‘He was the one who persuaded me to come to Pakistan to train.’

  ‘So if you are a traitor, he is too? Is that what you’re saying?’

  ‘I am not a traitor, you have to believe me. This is a mistake. It’s all a mistake.’

  ‘There has been no mistake, Raj. We know you are a traitor. And if you vouch for Naseem, then he is also a traitor.’

  ‘Mahmud, you have to believe me, I am not a traitor.’

  Mahmud shook his head sadly. ‘Very well, then,’ he said. He looked over at the man with the knife and raised his hand.

  The man placed the curved blade against Naseem’s throat and pulled. Blood spurted across the dusty courtyard and a wide red gash appeared in Naseem’s throat.

  ‘No!’ shouted Raj.

  The man gripped Naseem’s hair with his left hand as he hacked away at the neck. Naseem’s arms thrashed around for a few seconds and then stopped. The man hacked twice more and then the head came away, blood showering down on the rest of the corpse.

  ‘Allahu Akbar!’ screamed the man. ‘Allahu Akbar!’ echoed the rest of the men. The men either side of Naseem let him go and the headless corpse pitched forward and hit the ground with a dull thump.

  Raj stared at the body in horror. The man holding the head began to dance around, waving it like a trophy as he yelled ‘Allahu Akbar’ over and over.

  ‘You see what you’ve done, Raj?’ asked Mahmud.

  Raj continued to stare at the blood pooling around the shoulders of the corpse.

  ‘If you had told the truth, Naseem would still be alive.’

  Raj said nothing. His mind was in turmoil, unable to accept that Naseem had been killed in front of him. He wanted to believe that they had somehow faked the whole thing but he knew that he was clutching at impossible straws. Naseem was dead and Mahmud was right – it was Raj’s fault. Raj felt tears run down his cheeks.

  Mahmud shouted something in Arabic and four of the men hurried towards a barred gate on the far side of the courtyard.

  ‘What are you thinking, Raj?’ asked Mahmud. ‘Do you think your handler is going to rescue you? Do you think they will send helicopters? We are in Pakistan, Raj. That is not going to happen. But even if we were in Iraq or Afghanistan, they would not come. The infidels are beaten, they are leaving with their tails between their legs. They don’t care about you, Raj. You’re old news. All you can do now is help yourself. You have taken a wrong turn, brother, but you can get back on the right path. Allah is a forgiving God, Raj. He understands that sometimes we fail. As it says in the Qur’an, everything in the heavens and everything in the earth belongs to Allah. He forgives whoever He wills and
punishes whoever He wills. Allah is Ever-Forgiving, Most Merciful. He will forgive you, Raj. It is not too late.’

  The four men returned with two more men. It was Sami and Labib. They were both managing to walk, just about. Sami’s right eye was closed and his lips had swollen to twice their normal size. His shirt was torn and his belly was hanging over his trousers. Labib’s face was also bruised and bloody. His mouth was wide open and Raj could see that two of his front teeth were broken.

  ‘You can’t,’ said Raj, shaking his head. ‘You’re a human being, how can you do this?’

  ‘The kafir is no better than an animal,’ said Mahmud. ‘And those Muslims who betray Allah are worse than the kafir.’

  ‘They haven’t betrayed anyone,’ said Raj. ‘They’re good Muslims. They’ve done nothing wrong.’

  ‘But how can I believe anything you tell me, Raj? Every word that comes out of your mouth is a lie. You know what it says in the Qur’an, brother? “The signs of the hypocrite are three: when he speaks, he lies; when he makes a promise, he breaks it; and when he is entrusted with something, he betrays that trust.” That is what you are, Raj. You are a hypocrite. So I cannot believe anything you tell me. You tell me that Sami and Labib are good Muslims, that they are not betrayers, but you are a liar and a hypocrite, so how can I believe you?’

  ‘They are good men, Mahmud. They are true to jihad. They are true to your cause.’

  Mahmud held out his hands, palms upward. ‘And you, brother, are a proven liar.’

  The man who had beheaded Naseem went to stand behind Sami. The curved blade was still dripping with blood. Sami began to struggle but the men on either side of him tightened their grip and held him fast. The man with the knife looked over at Mahmud, waiting for the signal. Sami’s whole body was trembling as if he was having an epileptic fit. Labib was struggling but was so weak that his captors had no trouble holding him.

  ‘Stop!’ Raj yelled. ‘For the love of Allah, stop!’

  ‘They are tainted, so they are of no further use to us,’ said Mahmud. ‘You have tainted them with your lies, Raj. Your lies are condemning them to death.’

  ‘I’m not lying, they’re good Muslims. This is nothing to do with them.’

  ‘What is nothing to do with them, Raj?’ asked Mahmud quietly.

  ‘This. All this. The things you’re accusing me of. It has nothing to do with me, you know that.’

  ‘I know nothing of the sort,’ said Mahmud. ‘The one thing I know for sure is that you are lying to me. So when you tell me that they are good Muslims …’ He shrugged carelessly. ‘How can I believe you?’

  He looked over at the man with the knife and began to raise his hand.

  ‘Wait!’ shouted Raj.

  Mahmud stopped and lowered his hand.

  There was a large wet patch on the front of Sami’s pants.

  ‘I am telling you the truth, may Allah strike me down if I lie,’ said Raj. ‘They are good men. They have not betrayed you.’

  ‘And what about you, Raj? Have you betrayed me?’

  Raj said nothing.

  Labib screamed something but his accent made it impossible for Raj to work out what he was saying.

  ‘You need to tell the truth, about everything,’ said Mahmud. ‘Only then can you be believed.’

  ‘Please don’t kill them,’ said Raj. ‘I beg you. In the name of Allah the Merciful.’

  ‘You will be truthful?’ asked Mahmud.

  ‘Yes, I will!’ shouted Raj. ‘Now let them go!’

  ‘Have you betrayed us?’ asked Mahmud.

  Raj closed his eyes. ‘Yes,’ he said, his voice barely audible.

  ‘You have been working for MI6?’

  Raj took a deep breath, then exhaled and nodded slowly. ‘Yes,’ he said.

  Mahmud smiled as he walked towards Raj. He patted him gently on the shoulder. ‘Well done, brother,’ he said. ‘You have done the right thing. You have saved your friends. Now together we can save your soul.’

  The pilot made full use of the plane’s short take-off and landing characteristics and came to a stop a few seconds after touching down. There was a single runway at the Cherat army base and a parking area where there was a line of a dozen assorted planes in army livery.

  The pilot came out of the cockpit and opened the door, just as a Land Rover Defender pulled up. The desert heat hit Shepherd like a hot shower and he felt sweat beading on his face as he pulled open the rear door of the Land Rover and threw in his holdall. Kassar climbed in next to him. ‘We have a briefing with Brigadier Khan this evening at seven,’ he said.

  ‘Can’t you bring me up to speed?’ asked Shepherd.

  ‘Only the brigadier has information on the mission. We haven’t been told anything other than that we are to go in early tomorrow.’

  ‘Tomorrow? We’re going in tomorrow? Are you sure?’

  ‘Is there a problem?’

  ‘Hell, yes, there’s a problem. We need to rehearse. Practise. I haven’t even got a weapon.’

  ‘I’m going to take you to the quartermaster now,’ said Kassar. ‘We’ll get you everything you need.’

  ‘Addy, we can’t go in cold. We need to train first.’

  They drove past a line of hangars where mechanics in green overalls were working on three Russian-built Mil Mi-17 transport helicopters.

  ‘We train all the time,’ said the captain. ‘We have done building entries a thousand times.’

  ‘Not with me, you haven’t.’

  ‘But you are well trained. You’re with the SAS.’

  Shepherd didn’t want to contradict the captain about being a member of the Regiment, but even if he had still been in the Regiment, he would have been insisting on a full rehearsal with live rounds. ‘Addy, I need to speak with the brigadier now.’

  ‘That’s not possible,’ said the captain. ‘He’s in Islamabad briefing the prime minister. He is not expected to be here until this afternoon.’

  ‘You mean the man who is leading the mission isn’t even on site?’

  ‘Brigadier Khan won’t be leading the attack, that’ll be Colonel Jamali.’

  ‘So what will the brigadier be doing?’

  ‘He’ll be monitoring from the base,’ said Kassar.

  ‘Typical REMF,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘What is a REMF?’ asked the captain.

  Shepherd realised that it was probably best not to tell him that he’d called the brigadier a Rear Echelon Mother Fucker, even though the description seemed to be appropriate.

  ‘It’s what we call a soldier who stays away from the front line. What can you tell me about the colonel?’

  ‘He is a good man. He was also at Operation Janbaz. He has been in the SSG for more than twenty years.’

  ‘Can I talk to him?’

  ‘Of course. Once we have got you your equipment, I will take you to see him.’

  ‘I could do with a shower,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘I have arranged a room for you in the officers’ mess,’ said the captain.

  Shepherd looked out of the window. Most of the troopers he saw were wearing the US woodland-pattern camouflage fatigues though only the SSG commandos were wearing maroon berets. ‘How many people know what’s going on?’ asked Shepherd.

  ‘Six teams of four have been put on stand-by,’ said Kassar. ‘Then there are three captains, including myself. And the colonel, of course.’

  ‘What about regular army?’ asked Shepherd. ‘Will they be moving in to secure the area afterwards?’

  Kassar looked uncomfortable. ‘It is a difficult area to secure,’ he said. ‘It is controlled by the Taliban, and has been for as long as I can remember. Troops are sent in from time to time, but they always leave.’

  ‘So what are you saying? We go in, get the hostage, and leave?’

  ‘I don’t have the operational details. We’ll get those from the brigadier.’

  Shepherd laughed. ‘Sounds like you’re being treated like a mushroom,’ said Shepherd. ‘Happens to
me all the time in my job.’

  The captain frowned. ‘Mushroom? I don’t understand.’

  ‘They keep you in the dark and feed you bullshit,’ said Shepherd. ‘That’s what they do with mushrooms.’

  The captain’s frown deepened, then he laughed. ‘That’s good,’ he said. ‘That’s very good.’

  ‘It’s also very true, unfortunately,’ Shepherd said. ‘Our masters often operate on the basis that we are told only what they think we need to know. But you and I will be the ones going in with guns.’

  ‘While they carry on being REMFs?’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Shepherd.

  The Land Rover pulled up in front of a large featureless building. Kassar climbed out and Shepherd followed him.

  ‘You’ll need everything, all the gear?’ asked the captain, as he pushed open a pair of double doors. Ahead of them was a counter some ten metres wide behind which stood three men in white overalls and behind them stretched rows and rows of clothing and equipment in metal racks that reached up to the roof.

  ‘I bought my own boots with me,’ said Shepherd.

  Kassar nodded. ‘Boots are important,’ he said.

  ‘So are guns, but I don’t think they would let me on a plane with an MP5,’ said Shepherd.

  One of the men in white overalls walked over and spoke to Kassar in Urdu. Kassar replied and then turned to Shepherd. ‘He needs your measurements.’

  ‘Thirty-eight chest, thirty-inch waist. Five feet eleven.’

  The quartermaster obviously spoke English because he scribbled on a clipboard and then disappeared among the racks.

  ‘I saw the helicopters back there,’ said Shepherd. ‘Is that how we’re going in?’

  ‘We haven’t been told, but they are all being readied so we’re assuming we’ll be using them.’

  ‘I can’t get over the fact that no one talks to you before a mission,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘It’s different in the SAS?’

  ‘Chalk and cheese,’ said Shepherd. ‘We’re all asked for our input, and everyone is listened to. We call it a Chinese parliament.’

  ‘In the SSG, the senior officer makes the decisions,’ said Kassar.

  ‘Officers make the decisions in the SAS, too, but more often than not the troopers have more experience so only an idiot would ignore his men,’ said Shepherd.