A Covert War (29 page)

After the evening meal, Abdul allowed Susan and David to spend a little more time together before taking him away and shackling him in a room somewhere. Then he returned and showed Marcus and Susan where they would be sleeping.

***

Marcus couldn’t sleep; he daren’t sleep because of what he was planning. He knew that Susan would not be able to negotiate her brother’s release simply because she had sent a text message to Cavendish; no, it was much more involved than that.

His best guess was that someone in the government would ask to meet Abdul on neutral ground, which was hardly likely in Afghanistan. Abdul would sense duplicity in that because that was the way governments played the rules. This would antagonise Abdul and he would more than likely take Susan and himself as hostages and use the three of them, David included, as bargaining chips.

He thought about Cavendish and realised the man had sent them into the lion’s den deliberately and was probably relying on some inspiration from Marcus. Perhaps he thought that David would help, but then Cavendish had no idea how fit and strong his former agent was.

The more he thought about it, the more Marcus realised that their lives were almost certainly forfeit unless he could think of something. And it was these thoughts that had been running through his mind the moment he had seen David. And the more he thought about what would probably happen, the angrier he became.

He looked at his watch and could see from the luminous dial that it was almost four o’clock in the morning and soon the dawn light would begin to fill the house. Hopefully everybody in the house would be asleep, although he guessed that Abdul would have posted a guard. It surprised him that Abdul didn’t have a small army with him, but then if the Arab was expecting to be welcomed into the arms of the British Government, he probably would not have wanted his loyal band of thugs watching.

Marcus got out of bed and walked on the balls of his feet to the door. He opened it carefully, surprised that it was not locked and peered out along the corridor that ran the length of the house. He saw a shadowy figure walking towards the short passage that led to the front doors of the house. Marcus had no idea who it was.

He slipped quietly out of the room and closed the door behind him, then tip-toed carefully down to the corner of the short passage. Peering round the corner he saw the figure closing the front door. From his body language, he was closing it like a thief would when entering somebody’s house and didn’t want to be heard.

As the figure disappeared from view, Marcus walked quickly up to the door and edged it open. He looked through the narrow gap and could see the front yard bathed in the half-light between night and dawn. He could see one of Abdul’s men. Habib, apparently asleep on a log, judging from his crumpled shape.

What followed next, Marcus could hardly believe. The figure he had watched leaving the house was Kareem. He suddenly thrust something into Habib’s neck. Then he wrapped his arm around the man’s head and stabbed him again. He let him slump to the ground.

Marcus knew then that they were all in terrible danger and his earlier misgivings about Abdul had taken on a new twist; although he doubted that Abdul had anything to do with what he had just witnessed.

Marcus kept the door open just a little and saw Kareem drag Habib’s body into the sparse undergrowth that struggled for survival alongside the track. As soon as he had disappeared, Marcus stepped out of the house and sprinted across the yard, into the undergrowth and threw himself at Kareem.

It was over within seconds; Marcus had achieved the element of total surprise and knocked Kareem senseless with a chopping blow to the jaw line beneath the ear. Kareem slumped on to the bloody body of Habib in a gruesome parody of endearing friendship.

Marcus stripped the Kareem of his clothes and tied him to the body of his comrade in arms, shoving the tails of the man’s shirt in his mouth and gagging him securely. All the while Marcus was doing this, he kept asking himself the same question; why did he kill Habib?

Marcus could only make guesses and ponder on the imponderable, but that would not get him any further. His next problem was how to tackle Abdul and secure David’s and their own freedom. He had no idea where Abdul was sleeping. Nor did he have any idea where David was, but he intended finding him.

He went back into the house, holding the AK47 that he had picked up from the dead man across his chest, finger across the trigger guard and went back to his room. Once he was in there he knelt beside Susan’s bed, kept the AK47 out of sight and shook Susan awake. As she sat up he put his fingers to his own lips and one hand on hers.

‘Get dressed,’ he whispered. ‘We’re leaving and we’re taking David with us.’

Susan caught on very quickly. She too had realised that they had been taken into a situation which was beyond them, and she guessed that Marcus was taking matters into his own hands. She nodded at him and scrambled out from under the single blanket that covered her.

Marcus took a little time to admire Susan’s delightful curves before leaning over towards her and planting a big kiss on her lips. Then he went over to the door before she could say anything in protest.

Marcus reasoned that Abdul would have put David in the room furthest away from the front door. And he also believed that Abdul would probably sleep in the adjacent room. So he walked to the far end of the passageway and tried the door at the end.

It was locked.

He tried the door opposite. That too was locked.

It left him with no alternative. He crashed his foot against the first door, bringing it hard against the lock. The door was old and weak; it gave instantly, opening with a resounding crash as it swung back and hit the wall.

Marcus ran into the room. It was empty.

He turned and lashed out at the other door which gave in too. As he rushed into that room he saw Abdul reaching across to the chair beside his bed. Marcus could see his AK47 hanging across the back.

He kicked the chair away and shoved the barrel of his own weapon into Abdul’s face.

‘Don’t move!’

Abdul froze. ‘You’re going to die,’ he muttered through gritted teeth.

Marcus slugged him. Abdul slumped back on the bed, not quite unconscious but certainly dazed. Marcus then knelt on top of Abdul with one knee and held him like that until he had regained some of his senses.

‘Now listen. I am going to stand up. You are going to tell me where the key is to David’s chains. Then David, Susan and I are going to leave.’

Abdul shook his head. ‘No, you are going to die.’

Marcus hit him again. ‘Don’t keep saying that. Where’s the key?’

David was sitting up by this time. ‘It’s on the table over there,’ he told Marcus pointing to the table at the far side of the room.

Marcus picked up Abdul’s weapon from the back of the fallen chair and passed it to David. ‘I hope you know how to use this,’ he said. He then went across to the table and picked the key up. Within two minutes, David was standing beside Marcus. Both men were looking at Abdul.

‘Well,’ David said, a little breathlessly. ‘You seem to have control of the situation. What do we do now?’

Marcus glanced quickly at David. ‘What we do now is tie him up, and then we leave with Susan.’

‘What about Abdul’s men. Where are they?’

‘One is dead and the other is tied up.’

‘You?’ David said without finishing.

Marcus shook his head. ‘No, one of Abdul’s faithful minders killed the other one. I watched him do it.’

Abdul’s expression clouded over when he heard what Marcus had said. He began to sit up but Marcus shoved him down again. ‘Stay there!’

‘Why are you lying about my men?’ he asked.

Marcus shook his head. ‘I’m not, believe me. One of your men is a traitor to you. He killed his friend.’

He handed David his AK 47.

‘Watch him while I tie him up.’

Marcus spent a couple of minutes making sure Abdul could not move. Then he took the AK47 back from David. He was about to say something to David when suddenly there was a crash and a scream. Marcus spun round and made a quick sprint for the door.

He got out into the passageway and stopped. At the far end, now reasonably light because of the dawn beginning to seep into the sky, he could see Susan. She was struggling fiercely trying to free herself from the man who was holding her.

In the man’s other hand was a gun. He lifted it and pointed at Susan’s head. Then he called down the corridor to Marcus.

‘Put your gun down, or I will shoot her.’

Marcus felt his whole body slump in despair and disbelief. He knew the voice of the man who had just spoken to him.

It was Maggot.

TWENTY TWO

Cavendish was standing in McCain’s office. It was just after four thirty in the morning and McCain had woken him by phone to tell him there was a signal waiting for him. Cavendish had asked that he be told the moment his signal came in, no matter what time of day or night it was. He apologised to McCain for inconveniencing him. McCain simply shrugged.

Cavendish read the coded transmission from MI6 in London. He thanked the Security Officer for his help and took his leave, hurrying back to his sparse accommodation where he could decode the message safely.

What Cavendish had asked his office in London for was a list of all the suspects, dead or alive that he had on the file marked ‘Mission’. The list was not extensive but it included Grebo, Faulkner and James Purdy, the British Cabinet Minister. It also included the names of Rafiq Shah and Lieutenant Dale Berry.

Cavendish knew the last name as Chuck Berry, now on the Reaper flight, and the other as Maggot, long- time friend of Marcus.

He thought seriously about the association between Marcus and Shah, wondering if Marcus had indeed been pulling the wool over his eyes and was in fact working for The Chapter.

If that was the case, Cavendish believed his master plan was in tatters. All he had wanted was David Ellis’s release because Ellis carried in his head an enormous amount of human intelligence, so vital to the security forces in Afghanistan and their battle against Al Qaeda and the Taliban, that to lose it would seriously jeopardise the outcome of the war.

Ellis had worked undercover in Afghanistan for two years before coming to the Mission where he believed his remit would end. What the young man could not have known then was that he had been compromised, and almost certainly by the CIA, which meant Hudson. And it was this that had led to his attempted murder, and the murder of Shakira, Cavendish’s other agent.

All this confirmed to Cavendish something he had suspected for a long time: that the CIA were eavesdropping on British Intelligence Security Traffic for their own, duplicitous reasons. It meant that Hudson would almost certainly have known the names of his deeply embedded operators, and it was this that led to the attack on Shakira and David. But not for American security reasons but simply to protect the massive smuggling operation run by The Chapter.

He then thought about Abdul Khaliq’s fortuitous kidnapping of Ellis from the hospital. Was it good fortune, luck or did Abdul know the real value of someone like Ellis? If that was the case then Cavendish owed Abdul Khaliq something and could afford to cut him some slack; to listen carefully to his demands and find a way of accommodating some, if not all of them.

But rather than think of him as a very clever conspirator, he preferred to think of Marcus as a loose cannon, rather than a skilful agent working for Hudson’s CIA. He had to because his reputation and possibly other people’s lives depended on it.

He didn’t need the list now; there were only two people he needed to watch very carefully, and he would need to take McCain into his confidence. So before tearing the list up and flushing it down the toilet, Cavendish knew he would have to show it to the lieutenant.

He picked up the phone and dialled Lieutenant McCain’s private quarters.

***

Randy Hudson, the CIA chief received a call at the same time. Once again the CIA liaison officer had something for him. Hudson dressed and hurried across the domestic compound to the CIA office on the technical site. He had no vehicle so had to put up with a fairly lengthy walk. It was very early in the morning and, thankfully for Hudson the air was just cool rather than freezing as it often was during the winter months.

He reached the CIA office and showed his pass to the MP at the door. There was a turnstile entrance which the security man opened electronically from within his pigeon-hole office.

Hudson hurried through and found the liaison officer waiting for him.

‘I have these co-ordinates for you,’ he told Hudson.

The CIA man took them from him, read them and nodded his head in obvious satisfaction.

‘Are they there now?’ he asked.

The liaison officer said they were. ‘We picked them up on the Reaper. My guess is they’ll be there a few hours yet.’

Hudson thanked him and folded the note on which had been written the co-ordinates to the farmhouse where Abdul had taken Marcus and Susan. He checked his watch; it was a little after five o’clock. He smiled ruefully; once the figures had been passed on to Chuck Berry the farmhouse would be utterly destroyed on the next Reaper pass. He only wanted to take out Abdul Khaliq, but the collateral damage, meaning whoever was with him, would be perfectly acceptable to a man like Hudson.

He stepped out of the building, a light spring in his step. The dawn light was bright enough now to pick out the silhouettes of the F15E Strike aircraft and the Apache gunships lined up on the pan. Ground crews were out early preparing the aircraft for the coming day’s operations. Tractors towed generating sets out to each airplane, and ammunition trolleys were on their way to fill the jets and the gunships with their deadly loads.

None of this attracted Hudson’s attention as he hurried over to Reaper flight, intent on a strike of his own. Within one hour he reasoned to himself, Abdul Khaliq would be dead.

***