by Leigh Barker
Within seconds, people were peering from windows and doorways all around the square at the madman rolling about in the dust, and a minute later the square was full of men, women and kids out for a closer look. Ethan reached into his pocket and pulled out a small remote detonator, ignored the Afghan’s frantic grunting, and pressed the button.
He let the Afghan get a long look at the carnage and then closed the doors and signalled Caponetto to roll.
When they were far enough away from the village, the van picked up speed on the half-decent road. Nobody spoke, but the Afghan looked as though somebody had kicked him in the gut, which was just fine with the Americans sitting and watching him suffer.
Five miles down the road, Caponetto pulled the van over, and Alvarez took another bomb vest from the box. The boy stopped squirming and glared at Ethan.
“Hey, don’t blame me,” Ethan said, “they’re your bombs.” He snapped his fingers. “I know what you’re thinking.” He gave the boy a big smile. “You’re thinking about the seventy-two virgins waiting for you in heaven, right?”
The boy just glared.
“Yeah, I can see how that would excite a young man.” He gave the boy time to think about it. “Trouble is, as I see it.” He raised his hands in mock surrender. “And hey, I’m no cleric, so what do I know? But I reckon you only get the virgins if you suicide yourself blowing up infidels. That being Americans. Right?”
The boy couldn’t answer, even if he’d wanted to, but he continued to do the glaring thing.
“So I’ll take that as a yes.” Ethan pulled an exaggerated puzzled expression. “So, blowing up a bunch of your own women and kids probably won’t qualify you for the girls.”
The boy stopped glaring as his gears meshed and the implication of what the American was saying clunked home.
“That’s right, your pal there,” Ethan said, nodding at the back of the van, “just splattered most of the innocents in that village.” He shrugged. “So I guess he’s burning in hell right now.” He frowned. “Hey, you’ve got a hell, right?” He smiled at the Afghan, reached over, and ripped the duct tape off his mouth. “What do you say, son?”
The boy licked his lips and breathed heavily, but said nothing.
Ethan sat down against the side of the van. “Look, son,” he said softly, “we don’t want to hurt you.” No, of course not, blowing up the other kid was us just being playful. “Look, tell you what…” He smiled warmly. “You tell us something, and I’ll tell my superiors you cooperated, and I let you go. What do you say?”
The boy said nothing. Ethan shrugged and nodded at Alvarez, who reached forward, wrapped the bomb vest round the boy’s shoulders and clipped the buckle. The boy’s tongue flicked over dry lips, and he stared in stunned silence at the explosive blocks on his chest.
“Look, son,” Ethan said in the same soft voice, “I don’t want to tell my man there to drive to the next village so you can blow the kids to pieces, truth I don’t.”
The boy was trembling.
“I know you believe in what you’re doing and that martyrdom is a big thing for you people. But blowing up your own women and kids?” Ethan shook his head. “You don’t want that, and I sure as hell don’t want it. I’d like to let you go, so you can go home to your mom and your sisters. You got sisters, right?” Like every Afghan had sisters. “So, what do you say? You tell me something I can pass on to my boss, and you’re free to go.”
The boy tore his eyes off the explosives and stared hopelessly at each of the Americans in turn. And they smiled back at him. They could see he was thinking about it.
Ethan shrugged and nodded at Caponetto to start the van.
“Wait!” The boy’s voice was shaking. “If I tell you something, you will let me go free?”
Ethan nodded. “That’s the deal, son.”
The boy thought about it. No virgins. “I can tell you only what I know. Perhaps this will not be enough.”
Ethan shrugged. “Don’t fret, son. You tell me and let me judge, okay?”
The boy sank back against the side of the van as his defiance melted away. “I have heard that there is to be a bomb in Eilat, to bring down a hotel.”
Ethan raised his hand. “That’s Israel, son.”
The boy’s mouth hung open, and he shook his head dumbly.
“You see, son, I don’t give a rat’s ass about the Israelis.” He gave him time to translate. “I just want to know about attacks on Americans.” He raised his eyebrows and smiled.
The boy began licking his lips again. Ethan nodded at Caponetto. “He doesn’t know anything, Al, how far’s the next village?”
“Ten clicks, about,” Caponetto said and deliberately crunched the gears.
“Wait! Wait!” The boy was bouncing up and down.
Ethan made a big play of waving Caponetto to stop the van that wasn’t moving.
The boy took a slow breath. “I do not know of any attacks in America. I am just a soldier.”
Ethan shrugged and started to get up.
“But do I know of an attack here,” the boy gasped quickly. “And there are many Americans there.”
Ethan sat down against the side of the van and tilted his head.
“Do you know a village called Agha Dal?” the boy said.
Ethan shook his head, “Never heard of it. But you say there are Americans there? Where is it?”
“It is in Khanashin District, but I do not know where.”
“That’s no use to me, son.” Ethan sighed and shuffled in preparation to calling it off, which he had no intention of doing; this op had been weeks in the planning.
“Al Qaeda is there.”
“So what? Al Qaeda is everywhere,” Elward said and shrugged. “Wouldn’t mind killing a few of the bastards, though.”
“Okay, son,” Ethan said, showing interest again, and the Afghan almost relaxed a little. “Tell me about Al Qaeda.”
“What’s to know, boss, we hide out and shoot the bastards when they turn up,” Elward said eagerly.
Ethan glared at him and shut him up. “What do you know about this…” He glanced at Elward. “This Agha Dal place?”
The boy took a long breath, seeing his life expectancy improve. “I do not know very much. There was a door open when it should not have been. I do not know what is to happen,” He caught the look and continued quickly. “Except that it is to be big and will be soon.”
“Is that all you know, son?” Of course it wasn’t.
“I also heard a name.” He became very agitated, looking this way and that, more afraid to say the name than he was of the American with the soft voice.
Ethan leaned over and patted his shoulder reassuringly. “You’re doing just fine, son. You tell me the rest now.”
“The name I heard was… was Mohammed Rahman Ali.” He breathed out slowly, relieved that he had said it and it was done.
Ethan, Alvarez and Elward exchanged looks that would have spoken volumes to anyone watching.
“You sure about the name, son?” Ethan never doubted it for a moment.
The boy nodded. “Yes, Mohammed Rahman Ali. He is a great freedom fighter.”
“My ass,” Alvarez said with a snarl. “He’s a stinkin’ terrorist.”
“That’s enough, Manuel,” Ethan said quietly and turned slowly back to the boy. “But he’s right, son. We call this man Lupus, which means wolf, because he is a killer of children.”
The boy’s head snapped up, and he looked slowly back at the van doors. They all knew what he was thinking and wondered if he’d say it, without much interest in whether he did or not.
“What else do you know about an attack in Agha Dal, son?”
The boy frowned deeply. “I have told you all I know. There will be an attack sometime soon, but I do not know when.” He was getting jumpy again and thought he needed to add more to get out of this hell. “Many Americans will die. This I do know.” He couldn’t keep the note of pride out of his voice.
Ethan eased hims
elf as upright as the van would allow.
“You said I would go free if I told you what I knew.” The boy’s voice was thin and breathless. “This I have done. I know nothing more.”
Ethan nodded at Alvarez, who opened the van doors after a long questioning look at Ethan.
“Okay, son, you can go.” Ethan reached into his pocket, and the Afghan jumped. “It’s just a knife.” Ethan showed him the switchblade, leaned over, and cut the cable ties.
The boy rubbed his wrists and looked at his captors suspiciously.
Ethan pointed at the open doors. The boy got the message and climbed out onto the dusty road without taking his eyes off the soft-spoken American.
The van pulled away slowly, leaving the Afghan struggling to unfasten the bomb vest with numb fingers.
“Is that it, boss?” Alvarez was frowning.
“Guess so,” Ethan said, climbing back into the front passenger seat.
“You’re just gonna let him go so he can blow up some jarheads someplace?”
“That was the deal,” Ethan said, leaning back into the seat. He flinched, put his hand in his back pocket, pulled out the remote detonator, and tutted. “I think I busted it,” he said, tossing it to Alvarez. “Check it out.”
Alvarez made a show of examining the detonator, pressed the button, and looked out through the dirty back window. “Seems to be working just fine, boss.”
Ethan settled back and closed his eyes. Man, it had been a long night.
15
“So what’s the big job?” Shaun said, catching up with Danny as he strode away from the big award ceremony.
“Well, let’s see.” Danny made a show of thinking. “Splatting that guy with the fire extinguisher kinda blew your cover on the surveillance.”
Shaun shrugged. “He was a very bad man. Just doing my duty.”
“Oh, that’ll be a first, then.”
Shaun held up the little case with the bravery medal. “Ahem!” He jiggled the gong out of the case. “Who’s the hero here?”
Danny took the medal off him and examined it carefully. “Very nice,” he said and tossed it in a rubbish bin.
Shaun chuckled and walked on, and Danny took three steps to test him, confirmed he really was going to leave it, and went back to retrieve it from the old burgers and chips, ketchup and mayo. Gross. He put it into Shaun’s breast pocket without wiping it, but that would have messed up his handkerchief.
Shaun put his fingers into his pocket, withdrew them, looked at the sticky mess, gave Danny a dirty look, and wiped his hand on a bus stop window. Stylish.
“Okay, work to do, remember?”
Danny glanced at the smeared glass. “That nice Mr Baxter,” he said, with a sad shake of his head, “your lord and master who you worship with every breath—”
“Asshole.”
“Yes, I could see how you might want to use that affectionate sobriquet,” Danny said with a smile. “Mr… Asshole, says we’re to proceed — yes, we’re to proceed, to Bethnal Green and interview a young gentleman name of Tweetie Pie.”
“You’re taking the piss. Tweetie Pie?” Shaun said.
“True as I’m sitting here. Tweetie Pie. And you know what’s really interesting?”
Shaun’s raised eyebrow was the only response Danny was going to get.
Danny sighed, as once again his big reveal fell flat. “He wears high heels.”
“Now that is interesting.”
Danny cheered up. “Yes, I think so. And do you know what else?”
No response.
“He’s been shot.”
No surprise, no exclamation. In fact, nothing, Shaun just strolled off.
“Hey, where’re you going?”
“Proceeding,” Shaun said over his shoulder.
“Please yourself, but the car’s down this way.”
16
Harry had dumped one of his crutches and was dressed in his desert combats, had a SIG P226 in its belt holster, and his L115 rifle resting in the footwell against his leg. His hangover was reminding him never to touch another drop, and he leaned against the door of the Land Rover as Tom manoeuvred it through the traffic out of Camp Bastion and onto the perimeter road. He turned right onto the A1, apparently oblivious to oncoming traffic, and ignored the blaring horns and shouts of welcome.
“For Christ’s sake!” BJ growled from the seat behind Tom. “I’d like to go home not in a body bag.”
“You’ve got no chance,” Harry said, easing his head off the side window where it was bouncing with every bump.
“Cheers,” BJ said, reversing Harry’s move and settling back against the side of the Land Rover with his eyes closed.
An hour later, they turned right off the Kandahar-Herat Highway and, hugging the Helmand River, headed south out into the desert. The dust rolled up and out like a mini sandstorm, marking their progress with a cloud that could be seen ten miles away.
They rounded a bend and almost ran into the US Marine patrol waiting less than patiently for them from behind rocks and stunted and broken trees, though it was the M16s pointing their way that got their attention. Tom stopped the Land Rover, and they all stayed very still. After a few seconds, there was a rap on the driver’s window, and a lieutenant signalled for them to get out of the vehicle. They kept their hands in plain sight and stood beside the truck, no point spooking their allies into shooting them a few hundred times.
“Morning, sir,” Harry said with a friendly smile. Worth a try.
“Who are you, and what are you doing here?” the lieutenant said stiffly.
The three men avoided looking at each other, in case it set one of them off, and with the nervous — and very young — US Marines watching them down their rifle sights, going off on one was not a sound move.
Nobody was going to be that stupid.
“Well,” Harry said softly, “I’m Mother Teresa, and these are my followers.”
Tom glared at him, but Harry was grumpy, and that was a bad state when coupled with a size eight hangover.
“We are here to save all these people,” Harry continued, sweeping his arm round to cover the barren and empty desert. “We can save you too, if—”
“If you speak again,” the lieutenant said slowly, “I will have my sergeant here shoot you.”
“Been shot before,” Harry said and tapped his crutch.
“Sir,” Tom said quickly, “as you can see, we are British Marines out on recon.”
The lieutenant watched him steadily for a few moments before continuing in that same easy drawl. “I have received no intel about British army—”
“Marines,” Harry corrected.
The lieutenant gave him a hard stare, though it lost its punch a little as it was delivered through silly, metallic-tinted sunglasses only fit for a teenage girlie. Harry kept his thoughts to himself, for a change, though calling a US Marine lieutenant a girlie was probably pushing it too far even for him.
“Or to put it another way,” the lieutenant said, stepping closer. “What the hell are you doing in my war zone?”
“Ah,” Tom said quickly, before Harry could open his big mouth. “Now that we can understand, sir.”
“And stop calling me sir,” the lieutenant said irritably. “Do I look like a sir to you?” Well, that didn’t come out right and was followed by an embarrassed silence.
“No,” Harry said.
“You look like an officer in the US Marines to me,” Tom said quickly. “Just like we’re in the British Marines. Makes us brothers in arms, don’t you think?”
Surprisingly, the young lieutenant did think and nodded slowly. “Okay, you’re marines. But it doesn’t explain what you’re doing in my patrol area.”
Harry decided to stop being a prat and come clean. He tapped the crutch. “This is a souvenir from a little village a few klicks south of here, but it could have been a bloody sight worse if an old Afghan hadn’t pulled me out of the open.” He saw the marine nod once, knowingly. “I’m here to say thanks
.”
“Okay,” the lieutenant said, smiling, which caught them all by surprise. “I can copy that.” He stepped back and waved them on. “Watch out for the bad guys,” he said as he walked back up the hill to his men, who had now lowered their weapons and were watching the Brits with only mild interest.
“Let’s get the hell outa here,” BJ said in a stage whisper, when the other two hadn’t moved.
Harry waved at the young lieutenant from the Land Rover as they bounced away up the rutted track. “Snotty nosed kid,” he said with a shake of his head. “Probably get himself killed by some raghead sometime soon.”
“Nah,” Tom said, concentrating on keeping the Land Rover out of the deep wadi at the side of the track, “I’ve been to Quantico and seen these boys. Bit green, but I wouldn’t say no to one of them watching my six.”
Harry’s mouth was open, and he was staring at Tom in mock astonishment. He looked back at BJ, who was smiling broadly. “He means it, doesn’t he?”
“Yeah,” BJ said. Apparently they sent him over as some sort of exchange bitch, and he got treated great by the Yanks.”
“I bet he did,” Harry said. “Pretty boy like him, what’s not to like? And they’d just lurve his cute accent.”
“Fuck off,” Tom said eloquently.
17
Tweetie Pie was a stick-thin young man wearing an off-white NHS sling over his left arm and a dangly gold earring. What the hell is the world coming to, Shaun thought as he closed the door to the interview room and sat at the chipped wooden table. Danny walked behind Tweetie, leaned on the wall, and made pouting faces at Shaun.
“So, why are you here, Tweetie?” Shaun asked.
That floored the poor boy. “What do ya mean? Don’t you know?”
You shot six guys between the eyes, Shaun thought. He looked at the thin little blond with his silk shirt and over-tight trousers. I doubt that. “So you see, I know, Tweetie.” He couldn’t help saying his name. Tweetie, for God’s sake! “The question is, do you know?”