DARKNET CORPORATION (10 page)

“If we can get across, there is a minor road that will get us out of
here.”

They hadn’t travelled very far at all as they passed the village of
Wotchat
Kale when the driver pointed to a relatively gentle
slope down to the riverbed. The river looked wide and Bill had no idea how deep
it was or how good the surface might be and whether they would get bogged down
in the mud and become sitting ducks.

They left the road and bounced down into the rocky edges of the riverbed
making good going. They bounced and rattled but made it into the middle of the
stream with ease. The width of the river allowed it to be shallow all the way
across.

They were starting up the other side when the wheels started to spin. The
riverbank on this side was steeper, with crumbly, dusty earth. Bill climbed up
onto the roof of the car and looked around for the best way up. He spotted
another tributary flowing into the river further down, so they reversed back
and went down stream to the shingly outflow and turned into it. There was a fording
place at this point and they easily got up onto the dusty track.

Bill stopped and looked back across the river to see if there were any
watchers taking an interest in their movements. All quiet. So they moved up the
deserted road in a much happier frame of mind.

The road paralleled the river for some time and Bill watched the other
bank carefully to see if their pursuers spotted them from the major road. Then
the road swung left and away from the river and Bill breathed more easily as
the terrain intervened.

They continued north passing cultivated fields taking advantage of the
irrigation from the river, and passed a turnoff to their right. The driver
confirmed this would take them back to the main road. He was slightly less
terrified and willing to be compliant and helpful, having not been subject to
the physical violence he had expected.

Bill wondered if their pursuers would check this escape route.

They swept around to their left and down into another riverbed and as
they bumped out onto the opposite bank they joined another road going west.
There was a derelict village here, with only walls to see, but no way to tell
whether it was ancient or modern. They all looked the same.

This road also followed the river valley and zigzagged around the contours
of the terrain it had cut into. There was no civilisation of any kind and the
road seemed to be a rarely used track. While this was encouraging in some
respects it also meant that if they met anyone they would have to slow down or
stop to get past and any number of unfortunate scenarios could play out.

Ledge checked the Kalashnikov’s magazine again and counted rounds.
Two.
Not enough for almost anything should they meet
opposition.

Bill was talking to the driver and Ledge recognised that he seemed to be using
a name, ‘
Reshteen
’.

“What was all that about?” asked Ledge.

“I was urging him to go as fast as he could. I was also sorting out
logistics. We are just about out of gas,” replied Bill.

“Oh shit!” Ledge knew that if they ended up having to walk 20 or 30
kilometres in bare feet it would not only be uncomfortable but they would also
be extremely vulnerable. Rather than being safe in half an hour they would be
in danger for several more hours.

They continued on and were slowly climbing, the road starting to wind
back and forth. Then the driver, ‘
Rashteen
’,
announced, “
Afghaanistaan
” as they breasted a crest in the road and started
downwards.

Bill had another conversation with the driver and he
put the gear stick into neutral and took his foot off the gas pedal. They
coasted, every now and again having to brake to avoid going too fast around
corners. This technique continued until they made it down onto the flat,
desert-like plateau surrounded by mountains.

They were pretty safe now, but still barefoot, bareheaded,
dirty, sore and penniless. Bill spoke to the driver and when they saw one of
the roadside petrol sellers he got him to pull in. Ledge watched him closely
and covered him from the passenger seat with the Kalashnikov. He got back into
the car having purchased the fuel and a bottle of water, which he handed over,
trepiditious of his fate.

Bill talked to him and got him to write something on a
piece of paper. Then he said, “
Manana
tashakor
,
kha
kismet
darta
ghowaram
.” The driver bowed repeatedly stepping out of the
car and scurried away.

“What was all that about?” asked Ledge.

“I thanked him for saving our arses and promised we
would recompense him for his car and expense and hoped he was able to get home
from here on his own. I think he was just thankful to survive. It’s pretty
rugged around here. Not a country for old men,” replied Bill.

Ledge took over driving and Bill got into the
passenger’s seat, carefully making the rifle safe, positioning it pointing away
from him towards the floor and propped the butt against the seat.

Ledge, without the encumbrance of the driver started
talking about their experience and speculating on how Mickey came to be killed.
He railed about how a pilot of an UAV could mistake him for a target and how
could anyone sanction a strike, like that, anyway.

Bill stayed mostly silent, equally outraged by the turn
of events. He was aware that, while UAV’s in Afghanistan
were
under the control of the military, in FATA they were controlled by the CIA.

“What the hell was in that ‘mobile armoury’,” Bill
asked.

“Ordnance of all kinds, munitions, RPG’s, even a bit of
C4,” replied Ledge.

“So it could have gone up even with small arms fire, if
it had hit something?”

“Nah!
It was all
compartmentalised in strong containers. No way
it could
explode from small arms fire. It would take a big ‘mother’ of a detonation to
do it. We wouldn’t be riding around in it otherwise,” Ledge said.

They drove west through the mountains surrounding the
plateau and towards
Gardez
, onto better quality roads
and finally onto a highway and within a few hours were approaching Kabul.

Chapter Ten

It was starting to get dark as they rolled towards Camp Rasher and Bill
instructed Ledge to pull in a couple of hundred metres away from the camp
gates. They got out and started walking. Ledge unloaded the Kalashnikov and
slung it, barrel down, over his shoulder. As they got closer, the camp sentries
observed them and came forward to challenge the two scruffy-looking figures
shambling towards the camp.

The leading soldier held up his left hand and shouted “Stop”, keeping his
weapon levelled on the pair. Two other soldiers jogged up behind him, also
holding weapons on them, but all staying thirty metres away, out of the lethal
bomb blast area.

“Put down the weapon,” said the leader motioning with the barrel of his
gun.

Ledge, holding the magazine in one hand, slowly swung the other around
and, grasping the rifle strap, pulled it off his shoulder and put both weapon and
magazine carefully on the ground. At this, Ledge and Bill raised their hands as
well, just in case.

The leader called out, “lift your shirts,” and began mimicking the
movement, but Ledge and Bill had already complied and turned around to show
their bare backs as well. Realising that these men understood English the
leader called them forward and the two men shuffled forward tiredly.

“Captain William Hodge and Corporal Dakota Flynn,” said Bill as they got
close enough for conversation, and the leader stepped forward to identify them.
Seeing they were indeed Europeans he called out to his colleagues to get a
vehicle to take the men to the infirmary. One man ran back to the
gatepost and the other came forward, picking up the Kalashnikov then returned
to tend assistance.

A Humvee raced up and the two men got in and Bill said, “Take us to the
intelligence compound first.”

As they alighted from the Humvee and walked to the gate of the
Intelligence compound the duty sergeant almost fell off his chair as he recognised
Bill and called out, “Good God, Bill, you’re alive!”

“Not sure I feel it,” replied Bill. “Where’s the ‘Boss’,
” referring
to the MI6 station chief. Finding the station
chief, Geoff Wynn-Thomas, in his office nursing a glass of Jamieson’s, he
walked in and said, “I’ll have a large one of them, thanks.”

“Jesus Christ! Bill! We thought you were dead!” gasped the station
chief, almost choking on his whiskey.

“What the fuck happened, Geoff?” Bill was looking steely-eyed at his
boss. “We were shot at by a bloody UAV! Mickey Pomare is dead.
Fucking vaporised
!” Bill paused, waiting on a
reaction. With only stunned silence he continued, “Now the only way that could
possibly happen is if the CIA were targeting us…..What the fucking hell is
going on?” Bill finally had an opportunity to vent his emotions about the death
of his friend and NZ SAS soldier.

“Bill. It was a total fuck up, I know.
There’s
at least two investigations going on into it. We don’t know how it could get so
totally screwed up. The Company is tracing all the evidence of what happened,”
Geoff was unable to say anything that would satisfy Bill.

“Well ….that’ll make sure nobody ever finds out what actually happened
….and all the right butts will be covered,” said Bill, cynical and caustic.

“Look, it’s late and you two looked pretty banged up. You need to get
over to the infirmary and get checked out,” said Geoff finally pouring that
whiskey and picking up the phone to make arrangements for the infirmary to get
organised to receive them. “We can talk about this when you’re recovered and
rested.”

After being checked physically and having their wounds cleaned and
bandaged and a feed, the two men slept gratefully between clean sheets.

-|-

Bill was awoken by a serviceman bringing lunch. For a few moments he had
to search his brain to try and think where he was. Ledge was in the next bed,
still out for the count.

Putting his hands to his head he was surprised to find his beard gone. It
was quite a long time since he was last clean-shaven. Then he remembered the
nasty blow to his cheek and the swelling and realised that the medicos would
probably have had to clean him up to check the damage.

Wriggling to get upright in the bed so that he could eat was painful as
his battered and bruised body reacted to being moved around.

Joe Martin walked in with Jenkins trailing behind him.

“Bill, Bill, it’s good to see you back,” Joe effused, watching carefully
to see what reception he was going to get from the MI6 man. “You look like
you’ve been in a war,” forcing out a smile as if it was a joke.

“Yeah.
We’ve been up to our necks in it. We just didn’t know we had
to watch our backs too,” was Bill’s sardonic reply. Joe thought the response
was better than he expected. “What happened to Mickey?” Bill was grim and
pointed.

Joe breathed in deeply. “It was a clusterfuck, no argument,” he began.
“Somebody from several miles above me decided that the drug shipment was a
legitimate target and had to be taken out and ordered a drone strike on it.” The
spook paused trying to put distance between him and the sequence of events. “We
think that somewhere along the line the transponder serials got mixed
up…..and….”

“You mean you are able to pick up our GPS signals and see where we were,
just like the control units?” fired Bill.

“Well, yes. But we only watched. We could only observe the signals when
your control units engaged the paired transponders. We wouldn’t deliberately
activate your target’s transponders in case we jeopardised your mission. We
can’t know what’s happening on the ground,” Joe tried to explain, defensive
arms outspread, palms out.

“So what happened to a visual confirmation by the UAV pilot?” fired back
Bill. “It’s not as if a SORV looks anything like a flatbed transporter with
armed guards in a convoy, is it?”

“That’s one of the questions the CIA oversight committee will be looking
into. We don’t know. There is also a congressional investigation into UAV
activity in FATA that was already underway that wants to interview you too.
Both sets of investigators will be here shortly. We’ll try to get them to do it
in the same session so you don’t have to repeat the whole exercise twice,” Joe
was trying to offer whatever small concessions he could to appease the men.

Jenkins just stood aside watching, saying nothing, shuffling his feet.

“You know Joe, the fact that you guys have a word for it, just goes to
show how often you screw up. Clusterfuck is right!” Bill knew he was wasting
his anger on these professional arse-coverers. If the CIA was culpable, by
mistake or
design
, it wasn’t going to be freely
admitted or come out in conversation.

Geoff Wynn-Thomas arrived observing the tension as he walked towards the
bed Bill was in.

“Hello Joe,” he said. “Come to give your
mea
culpa’s
?” Clearly Geoff
thought the CIA had blood on their hands. Turning to Ledge he said, “Your OC
will be here in a minute. He’s just checked in at the gate.”

“We’ll come back later, after your interview with the investigators and
give you an update on Dinner-Jacket. The hornet’s nest has been given a kick.
Take it easy Bill,” said Joe as he and Jenkins left.

“How are you?” Geoff asked.

“I’ll live,” said Bill, noncommittal. “What does he mean ‘the hornet’s
nest has been kicked’?”

“In the last couple of days there have been reports of massive
recruitment going on for Abu
Ukasha
; a shipment of
surface-to-air missiles has been intercepted and we’ve spotted several large
gatherings of his supporters. We were unable to confirm the presence of Abu
Ukasha
at any of them, but it seems he has come into funds
and started to splash out on goodies to pursue his agenda,” Geoff advised.

“Yeah, well I think I know where the funds came from. Catching sight of
it cost my local operative his life,” Bill was feeling the guilt of having lost
two men; Gorbat and Mickey; two more than he had lost in all of his time in
military action.

A Major in desert pattern-disturbed fatigues came in and went directly to
Ledge’s bed. He saluted Ledge, which was unheard of for a superior officer to
do, especially to a soldier not actually in uniform, but doubly so from
soldiers in the NZ SAS, which has always been a relatively relaxed and
egalitarian unit. Bill realised it was as much deference to their dead comrade,
Mickey, as anything else. In the silence, it was a poignant moment.

“It’s good to see you safe and sound, Flynn,” the major started, shaking
him by the hand. “Once you’ve participated in the investigations here you’ll
accompany Lance Corporal
Pomare’s
body home so his
family can have a
Tangi
as soon as possible.”

“Body?” said Ledge. “You mean you’ve recovered his body?”

The major looked at Bill and Geoff then back to Ledge and said, “Not
exactly. We’ll be sending a casket home, a sealed casket, so that all the
formalities can be observed. You will be aware that in the special
circumstances of Mickey’s death there will be few remains, other than fragments
and bits of DNA, even if we could go in and retrieve them.”

“What happened?” Ledge asked.

“We know WHAT happened, what we don’t know is WHY it happened. I’ve seen
the footage. It’s conclusive and devastating. Mickey wouldn’t have known
anything about it. Rest his soul,” the major inclined his head downwards
automatically.

“There are investigations underway now to unravel how the targeting was
fouled up. UAV’s operating in FATA are under the control of the CIA, not the
military, so the investigations are not a straight forward court martial, they
include the military support, pilots in the US, traffic controllers etc., but
also CIA agents and intelligence sources and electronic systems in use. All in
all, it’s a pretty comprehensive, fuck up.”

The major paused letting the angst subside, then said, “You’ll take his
personal effects back with you and probably have to give evidence again at
inquiries in New Zealand. So your deployment to this theatre will be over once
you leave.

Ledge had mixed emotions. Some part of him was relieved he had survived a
dangerous deployment to the region; another part of him was sad it was over;
and another was anxious about having to deal with the
Tangi
,
the homecoming, and the recriminations he knew would follow. It would be
particularly difficult knowing that he had to keep up the pretence without a
body being in the casket. He consoled himself with thoughts of green grass, pig
hunting, beaches and family.
Soon, but not today.

Jenkins came in and seeing the discussion, stood deferentially a few
metres back from the gathering of men.

The major said, “Well if there’s anything you need in the meantime, let
the staff know here and I’ll see what I can do. Some of the unit will be in
soon to visit, but I’ve told them not to take up too much time because I know
you will be pulled into debriefing and things and that you are bound to need
some rest.”

At that he turned to Bill and said, “Podge. How are you holding up?”
using a nickname only a few intimates knew.

“I’m fine. Sorry about Mickey” he said tears starting to stream
down his face, unable to control the emotion.

The major came over and squeezed Bill’s shoulder. “There was nothing you could
possibly have done about Mickey. Don’t take on responsibility for it. That’s an
order, Captain.” After a few more minutes of quiet conversation, the major
nodded, turned about and walked out.

Jenkins took his cue to come forward and advise that the investigation
panel was convening in conference room 1 in the Intelligence Centre at 2 p.m.
Both Bill and Ledge confirmed that they were fit enough to attend and would be
there. He said, “I’m really sorry about your colleague,
Pom
-air,
Captain” and scuttled out quickly.

Two sharp-looking Military Police arrived and saluted. They interviewed
Ledge and Bill separately, writing down what was said; getting them to read and
sign their statements.