Spider Shepherd 11 - White Lies

by Stephen Leather

  ‘OK, guys, let me know you’re all OK,’ said Drake. He twisted around and counted four canopies close by but he had no way of knowing who was who. ‘Sierra One OK.’

  ‘Sierra Two OK,’ said Henderson.

  ‘Sierra Three OK.’ Julio Morales.

  ‘Sierra Four OK.’ Lars Peterson.

  ‘Sierra Five OK.’ Salvador Garcia. Sal.

  ‘Sierra Six. As well as can be expected.’ Franklin Sanders. AKA Monster. He hated jumping.

  ‘Sierra Seven OK.’ Calvin Wood. Woody.

  ‘Sierra Eight OK.’ Adam Croft.

  All good.

  They were down to two hundred feet. Drake released his operations bag and it fell on a ten-foot-long cord before swinging below him. Losing the extra weight would make his landing easier and the sound of it hitting the ground would give him warning of the impact to come. Drake pulled down on the toggles, bent his knees and braced himself. The ground rushed up at him and then he heard the dull thud of the equipment bag hitting the desert floor. He pulled down hard on the toggles and felt a surge of satisfaction as he realised he’d timed it perfectly. His feet practically kissed the sand and he took two steps and stopped. A perfect landing. He pulled hard on the right-hand strap of the harness to collapse the canopy as he jogged upwind. He wound the canopy and lines around his arms, then dropped them on the ground and unclipped his harness. He stood for a few seconds, looking around him, getting his bearings. Drake felt warm – the insulation had done its job – but the surface of his black thermal suit was wet and close to freezing. He decided to keep it on; the sun was about to dip down over the horizon and the Pakistan desert could be bitterly cold at night so they would need all the insulation they had.

  Guy Henderson ran over, his chute and harness in his arms. ‘All present and accounted for,’ he said.

  Drake nodded. So far so good. A broken or twisted ankle would have made things much more difficult.

  ‘Get everyone here, give me a minute to check my downloads and establish comms.’ Drake went down on one knee and checked his tablet. He had incoming data, downloaded from operation control in Basra. There was a map showing the terrain and a building circled in red, some three miles to the north of their position. There was also a satellite photograph of a white SUV and on it details of the driver and the registration. Saeed Al-Haznawi.

  ‘Base, this is Sierra One,’ he said. ‘Receiving?’

  ‘Base receiving.’ Lieutenant Commander Dick Blanchard was on the other side of the world but his voice was crisp and clear. Like all the SEALs, Drake had a flesh-coloured Invisio M4S earpiece which had been laser-cut to fit his ear perfectly. There was no microphone. Sound was conducted through the bone of his jaw to a sensor in the earpiece, which completely eliminated ambient noise and meant that the merest whisper would be transmitted.

  ‘Sierra One, on the ground and ready to go.’

  ‘Base, you should have the target and coordinates. Looks like you are three miles away. And we now have a secondary target en route to the primary location. An al-Qaeda operative named Saeed Al-Haznawi. He is driving a white Daihatsu SUV. If you can intercept him, all good. He was last seen driving on the main road from Islamabad to Peshawar.’

  ‘Sierra One, roger that.’

  ‘You need to move in now, Sierra One.’

  Sierra One, understood.’

  ‘Richard?’ Yokely put a hand up to his headset. It was Eric Feinstein. ‘Are you there?’

  ‘Hearing you loud and clear,’ said Yokely.

  ‘I have some good news for you,’ said the CIA technician. ‘We have a satellite moving over the area in about fifteen minutes. I can’t change its trajectory but I can get you a video feed that will give you some idea of what’s going on down there.’

  ‘Outstanding,’ said Yokely, his soft Southern accent stretching the word out as if he was relishing the sound. ‘Can you send a feed to the Brits, too?’

  ‘If you’re OK with that, sure,’ said Eric.

  ‘How long till we have a picture?’

  ‘It might stretch to an hour,’ said Eric. ‘I’ll keep you posted.’

  ‘You’re a star, Eric.’

  The SEALs gathered around Drake. They had stripped off their oxygen masks and left them in a pile along with their chutes and harnesses. ‘OK, Monster and Guy, you two get a hole dug and bury the gear,’ said Drake.

  ‘Why is it it’s always the black man who gets to dig the hole?’ growled Sanders.

  ‘Because you’re the biggest and strongest and you’ll do it quicker than anyone else,’ said Drake. ‘And Guy’s with you because he’s got less experience on the quads than anyone else.’

  Sanders was already down on one knee pulling a collapsible shovel from one of the equipment bags. His nickname, Monster, was a result of being called Franklin, which had quickly become Frankenstein, helped by the fact that he was just over six feet six inches tall, almost a record for the SEALs, most of whom were just below average height.

  Drake knelt down and placed his LCD display on the ground. The cursors identifying the six pods were clearly visible. Three were within a hundred yards of their position, one was just over two hundred yards away and the remaining two were closer to four hundred yards away, and in opposite directions.

  Drake knew that Garcia and Peterson were the two fastest so he told them to collect the pods that were farthest away. Garcia headed west and Peterson went east, both men jogging

  ‘Adam, listen up.’ He tapped his LCD display and the photograph of the white SUV filled the screen. ‘This guy is on the way to the house.’ He tapped the pod closest to the road. ‘Collect this quad and set up near the road. If you see him heading this way, take him out.’

  Croft grunted and headed off.

  Drake assigned pods to Morales and Wood and they headed east.

  He pulled his night vision goggles out of his equipment bag and went off in search of the last pod. It was easy enough to find. The wind was still tugging at the parachute but the heavy pod had dug into the sand and wasn’t going anywhere. He unhitched the canopy and collapsed it. He rolled it up and then undid the catches running around the middle of the pod. It opened up, revealing the quad.

  The quad – also known as an All Terrain Vehicle – had been manufactured by the Polaris Defence Vehicles company specially for the SEALs and had been painted in desert camouflage pattern. It was fitted with non-pneumatic tyres that were pretty much indestructible, which meant there was no need to carry a spare. As part of the testing of the tyres the manufacturer had blasted away at them with an AK-47 and then driven the vehicle a thousand miles over rough terrain. It had passed with flying colours.

  The quad had been designed to carry two hundred pounds of gear on the front rack and up to four hundred pounds on the back, but the SEALs didn’t need to carry much in the way of equipment and the rear racks had been reconfigured to carry an extra rider. The quad was equipped with two fuel tanks holding a total of thirteen gallons. The powerful 850cc four-stroke engine produced 77 horsepower and gave it a top speed of 70 mph, but it would be lucky to maintain 40 mph over the rough Pakistan terrain. There was no ignition key, just a fuel tap to turn and a button to press. The first time Drake pressed the button there was just a muted fart and then nothing, but the second time the engine kicked into life. Drake fitted his night vision goggles and switched them on. They hummed for a second or two and then the sensors kicked in and he was looking at his surroundings bathed in a pale green glow. He climbed on to the quad, engaged the gear and edged the vehicle slowly forward off the pod. Once it was on the sand he climbed off. A short distance from the quad was a group of rocks and he dragged the pod sections over to them. The pod’s camouflage pattern rendered it virtually invisible from a few yards away. He clipped the chute on to the back of the quad, climbed on and drove slowly back to where Sanders and Henderson were digging the hole. They were already three feet down.

  Woody arrived back just as Drake was climbing off his quad.

/>   ‘Sierra Four and Sierra Five, sitrep,’ said Drake.

  ‘Sierra Five, just reached the pod,’ said Garcia.

  ‘Sierra Four, I’m looking for mine,’ said Peterson.

  ‘You got a problem, Sierra Four?’

  ‘Lots of rocks,’ said Henderson. ‘Wait, no, I see it.’

  ‘Sierra Eight? Sitrep?’

  ‘Sierra Eight, I’m on the quad now,’ said Croft. ‘Heading for the road to intercept the SUV.’

  Drake walked over to the hole. It was almost big enough to hold their eight personal chutes and the six chutes that had been attached to the pods.

  He heard the growl of an engine behind him and turned to see Morales on his quad, bent low over the handlebars. He pulled up, dismounted, and dragged his chute over to the hole.

  Sanders and Henderson were digging like machines. The natural competitiveness of the SEAL mentality had kicked in and they seemed to be trying to outdo each other.

  ‘Sierra Five, on my way back now,’ said Garcia. ‘ETA three minutes.’

  ‘Roger that,’ said Drake. ‘What’s your situation, Sierra Four?’

  ‘Sierra Four, pod secured and the quad’s working,’ said Peterson in Drake’s earpiece. ‘Looking for a way through the rocks. The terrain’s rough here.’

  ‘Soon as you can,’ said Drake.

  Sanders stopped and grinned up at Drake. ‘What do you think, massa?’ he said. ‘You want Mandingo to keep digging?’

  Drake grinned. ‘I think we’re good, Monster.’ He offered his arm and pulled Sanders out of the hole, then did the same for Henderson.

  They all worked together to toss the chutes into the hole. They had just finished when Garcia arrived. ‘Right, let’s bury everything, then we’re off,’ said Drake.

  Croft was a hundred or so yards from the road when the white SUV roared by, heading west. He cursed. ‘Sierra Eight, that vehicle has just passed.’

  ‘Sierra One, roger that,’ said Drake in his ear.

  ‘Shall I chase?’

  ‘That’s a negative,’ said Drake. ‘RV with us two hundred yards south of the house. We’re moving in.’

  ‘Sierra Eight, roger that,’ said Croft as he turned his quad to the west, keeping parallel to the road.

  Al-Farouq took the cane from the man who had been beating Raj and grinned savagely at Shepherd. The men either side of Shepherd had tightened their grip on his arms, keeping him locked into the chair. ‘Please don’t hit him again,’ said Shepherd.

  Al-Farouq swished the cane through the air. ‘Then tell me the name of the brigadier who led the assault on the fort.’

  ‘He didn’t lead the assault. He stayed in the barracks.’

  ‘Don’t play games with me,’ said Al-Farouq. He smacked the cane against the back of Raj’s legs and Raj screamed out loud and began struggling.

  ‘Khan, that’s all I know. Brigadier Khan.’

  Al-Farouq nodded. ‘See, that wasn’t too difficult. And who led the attack on the fort?’

  ‘He’s dead,’ said Shepherd. ‘He got hit by an RPG.’ Al-Farouq drew back the cane. ‘OK, OK!’ said Shepherd. ‘Jamali. Colonel Jamali.’

  Al-Farouq held the cane with both hands and flexed it. ‘I have heard of Colonel Jamali, of course.’

  ‘He was a brave soldier,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘He died attacking my people,’ said Al-Farouq. ‘He would have killed them if he could.’

  ‘No argument here,’ said Shepherd. ‘Except of course he was wearing a uniform and representing a democratically elected government. Your people are what? Fanatics elected by no one.’

  ‘We serve Allah, the one true God.’

  ‘Yeah, well, good luck with that,’ muttered Shepherd. He wanted to say more but he knew that to do so would be counterproductive. If he angered Al-Farouq, he’d only take it out on Raj, so Shepherd averted his eyes and kept quiet.

  ‘And what is your name, my friend?’ asked Al-Farouq quietly.

  ‘I’m not important,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’m nobody.’

  ‘You’re too modest,’ said Al-Farouq. ‘And you’ve probably already realised I know exactly who you are.’ He said nothing for several seconds, then swished the cane through the air. ‘You are Dan Shepherd and you are an MI5 officer. It’s time to start telling the truth.’

  Drake kept his quad at just below twenty miles an hour. The terrain was rough and rocky and he was keeping well clear of what few tracks there were. The night vision goggles gave him a near-perfect view of what lay ahead, albeit with a greenish tint. The standard quad came with three lights, two in the front bumper and one in the handlebar pod, but the lights, and the bumpers, had been removed to save weight.

  He saw Croft off to his two o’clock. ‘Sierra One, I see you. Sierra Eight, stay put, we’ll be with you in a minute or two.’ He saw Croft lean back on his quad and wave.

  The terrain ahead sloped to the left but the quads had no problem remaining stable. They were fitted with on-demand all-wheel drive that automatically engaged all four tyres whenever the rear wheels began to slip and reverted back to the more fuel-efficient two-wheel drive on the flat. They were moving in a triangular formation with Drake taking point and Sanders to his right rear and Peterson to his left rear.

  Garcia and Wood were at the back, giving the formation an arrow shape. Henderson was sitting on Wood’s quad, facing the rear, his carbine at the ready. The SEALs matched Drake’s speed and kept him as the focal point of the formation.

  Drake reached Croft and drew up alongside him. As the rest of the SEALs pulled up around him, Drake checked his tablet. The target building was four hundred yards to the north. They were on a patch of rough land dotted with boulders that gave them plenty of cover. There was a narrow track ahead of them and beyond it half a dozen buildings. Three of the buildings, including the target, were surrounded by a waist-high wall. Drake switched off his engine and the other SEALs followed suit.

  ‘That’s the SUV,’ said Drake, pointing at the white Daihatsu parked next to the target building. ‘We need to move in now.’ He nodded at Wood and then pointed to a power line that fed an electric cable from the street, over the wall and to the houses. ‘Woody, I need you to cut the power to the house. If we get rid of the lights, we have the upper hand.’

  ‘Roger that,’ said Wood, and he headed towards the pole, bent double at the waist as he ran, cradling his carbine.

  ‘Assuming we achieve our objective we’ll be at our most vulnerable between leaving the target and getting to the quads,’ said Drake. ‘We’ll be on foot, but there’s very little moonlight and as far as we know the bad guys don’t have night vision equipment. The one thing we don’t know is the condition of the friendlies. If the two friendlies are mobile, Guy and Adam will pair up with them. They’re carrying extra NVGs. If they can make it on their own two feet then we’re gold. If they’re not mobile, I need Monster and Lars to team up with Adam and Guy. If they need carrying we carry them, OK? We do what we have to do to get them to the quads. Any questions?’

  ‘Just one,’ said Sanders. ‘Why does the black man always have to do the carrying? Tote that barge, lift that bale, will it never end?’

  Drake grinned. ‘Let’s move closer. As soon as Woody kills the power, we’re going in. Sal, you and Julio move around to the rear. Let me know what the door situation is there.’ Garcia and Morales moved out, keeping low to the ground as they ran.

  ‘Base, this is Sierra One,’ said Drake. ‘Receiving?’

  ‘Base receiving,’ said the lieutenant commander in Drake’s ear.

  ‘Sierra One to base, we’re getting ready to go in,’ said Drake. ‘The SUV is already there so the area might be hot.’

  ‘Base one, roger that. You guys be careful.’

  Al-Farouq whacked the cane against Raj’s back, between the shoulder blades. Raj was sobbing and Al-Farouq hit him again, this time on the buttocks.

  ‘Stop!’ shouted Shepherd. He struggled but the men holding him held him firm.

>   ‘You are Dan Shepherd, correct?’

  Shepherd nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you work for MI5?’

  Shepherd gritted his teeth. He knew this was going to end only one way, no matter what he said. If it was just him at risk he’d deny everything but that wasn’t going to work. It was clear that Al-Farouq knew who he was and who he worked for and denying it would only cause more pain for Raj. The problem was, once Shepherd opened the door the questions would come thick and fast. And if at any point he refused to answer, the torture would start again.

  ‘How about this?’ said Shepherd. ‘You let Raj go. He knows nothing. But if you let him go, I’ll tell you everything you want to know.’

  Al-Farouq smiled. ‘Really? Everything?’

  ‘Just let him go. Take him to the nearest city and let him loose. He knows nothing about you, and he knows nothing about ongoing operations.’

  ‘But you do?’

  Shepherd nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘And if I let him go, you’ll cooperate?’

  Shepherd nodded again.

  Al-Farouq walked towards Shepherd, swishing the cane from side to side. At the last second he drew it back and slashed it against Shepherd’s shins. Shepherd screamed in pain.

  ‘Do you think I’m stupid?’ hissed Al-Farouq. ‘There is no deal to be made here. You will tell me everything I want to know.’ He whipped Shepherd’s shins again. Shepherd was prepared this time and managed not to cry out.

  Al-Farouq walked back over to where Raj was hanging. One of the men standing behind Raj had a machete sticking in his belt. Al-Farouq took the machete from the man, then walked around Raj, slowly drawing the blade across his stomach. ‘If you do not tell me everything, I will cut your friend and you will watch him bleed to death in front of you.’

  Shepherd tried to look away but one of the men holding him grabbed his hair and pulled it back.

  ‘Now, why did they send you to Pakistan? Had you worked with Manraj before?’

  Shepherd glared at Al-Farouq, wishing there was some way he could get his hands around the man’s throat.