Death in the Desert (3 page)

Working together, they managed to push the Humvee upright. Then they towed it back on to the main road using the two other vehicles. Mitch’s mind was racing. Where was Gaz? He couldn’t have been taken far – there hadn’t been much time. But then it only took a few seconds to kidnap someone, and their attackers would know the area inside out.

Nelson stood surveying the surrounding countryside through binoculars. He could see a small village not too far away. Maybe Gaz had been taken there.

‘OK, Mr Omari,’ said Nelson. ‘Who d’you reckon did this? Taliban? Al-Qaeda?’

‘No,’ replied Omari, shaking his head.

‘How can you be so sure?’ asked Mitch.

‘Look at the weapon they used,’ said Omari.
‘A big boulder rolled down the slope. It’s out of the Stone Age. And they didn’t shoot at any of us. That doesn’t mean they don’t have weapons, it just means they didn’t want to get caught up in a fire-fight with you. If they’d been top military Taliban they’d have carried on with the ambush. The fact that they disappeared as soon as they’d got your man makes me think that was the whole point of it. Snatch a prisoner and then get away safely.’

‘Makes sense,’ murmured Nelson.

‘So you don’t think Gaz is dead?’ asked Mitch.

Omari shook his head. ‘If he had been, they’d have left his body here. It seems to me they wanted a live prisoner. Which means a hostage. A bargaining chip.’

‘Show him on TV and threaten to cut off his head unless the infidel Yanks and Brits get out of Afghanistan?’ mused Nelson.

Omari nodded.

‘So now I suppose we wait for a message, offering
him back in return for a ransom?’ asked Tug.

‘I don’t think so,’ replied Omari. ‘The people who did this are just locals. My guess is they were acting on instructions from someone more important. I’m pretty sure the same message will have gone out to everybody in the area. This lot just struck lucky.’

‘So how do we find out who’s holding Gaz?’ asked Mitch.

Omari gestured at the nearby village. ‘Local information,’ he said. ‘But I’m afraid they’re only likely to give that to another local. Or, at least, another Afghan. If you go in wearing those uniforms you’ll get nothing.’

‘Then we dress up in the local outfits we got,’ said Nelson.

‘Forgive me, Colonel, but you’d never pass for an Afghan,’ said Omari.

‘You ain’t goin’ alone,’ said Nelson. ‘Our mission is to get you to Kajaki.’

‘I’ll go with him,’ said Tug. ‘I speak some Pushtu, so I’ll be able to understand what’s going on.’

‘And me,’ said Two Moons.

‘Me, too,’ added Mitch.

Nelson nodded. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Me and Benny will wait here. But take care. I don’t want to lose the rest of you as well.’

Mitch, Two Moons, Tug and Omari changed into local costume from the selection in the car, putting on the robes and scarves over their body armour. ‘Won’t they think it’s strange us turning up in one of these things?’ asked Two Moons, gesturing at the Humvee.

‘No, there are many of these vehicles in use in this country,’ said Omari. ‘Some of them captured from the Western armies.’

They jumped into the car and set off, with Two Moons at the wheel.

‘How are you going to get the info we need?’ Mitch asked Omari. ‘These sorts of things usually take time.’

‘And time is one thing we don’t have,’ added Tug. ‘The longer Gaz is a prisoner, the harder it’s
going to be to find him and get him back.’

Omari patted a pocket in his robe. ‘I have money,’ he said. ‘And the people here are very poor.’

‘You’re going to bribe them?’ asked Two Moons. ‘That doesn’t always work. Trust me, the tribe I come from are poor and if someone offered them money to give up one of their own, they’d chase them off.’

‘True,’ agreed Omari. ‘But
someone
will take the money. It’s a question of finding out who.’

‘And how will you know that?’ asked Tug.

Omari shrugged. ‘I will know,’ he said. ‘A gesture here, a look there. The little signs.’ As the vehicle neared the cluster of buildings, Omari said, ‘This is a small village. It might be advisable if only one of you came out of the vehicle with me. We are here to ask for help, not to intimidate these people.’

‘That’s your opinion,’ growled Mitch. ‘If it gets Gaz back, I’m prepared to intimidate anyone.’

‘Easy, Mitch,’ said Tug. ‘What Omari says makes sense. Trust me, I’ve been here before. I suggest
you go with Omari while Two Moons and I wait in the car.’

‘Why me?’ asked Mitch.

‘Because if anyone comes up to the car to find out what we’re up to, I can talk to them in Pushtu. And you pass as Afghan better than Two Moons does.’

‘Makes sense,’ agreed Mitch. The vehicle pulled to a halt close to the nearest small clay building.

‘OK,’ said Tug. ‘Go find out where Gaz is.’

‘I assume it’s not a problem if I take my gun,’ said Mitch, gesturing at his weapon.

Omari smiled. ‘Out here, men feel undressed if they aren’t carrying an automatic rifle,’ he said.

‘Keep in view,’ said Tug. ‘If things go bad, we’ll cover you.’

Omari headed straight for the nearest house in the village. He seemed confident. This struck Mitch as suspicious. Omari had told them that this area was controlled by hard-line warlords, so why didn’t he seem worried being here?

When they reached the house there was much talking, smiling, and – Mitch noticed – money changing hands discreetly. At one point the man Omari was talking to scowled, darted a glance further into the village, and spat on the ground, at which Omari nodded sympathetically. Mitch hadn’t a clue what was being said, and part of him wished Tug had come. With his knowledge of Pushtu he would be able to tell Mitch what was really going on. Without Tug, Mitch just had to trust Omari.
And right now, he was wary about doing that.

The conversation must have yielded some kind of result, because Omari turned and headed towards another house further into the village. Mitch grabbed Omari’s arm and stopped him. ‘Wait,’ he warned. ‘Where are we going?’

‘I have the name of a man in the village who may be able to help us,’ Omari told him. ‘I am told he is a cheat and a liar and will do anything for money. He is not to be trusted. Which means he knows everything that goes on in this area.’ Omari indicated a narrow alleyway. ‘He lives down there.’

‘But if we go there we’ll be out of sight of Tug and Two Moons,’ said Mitch.

‘True,’ Omari admitted. ‘But I do not think this man is dangerous.’

‘But he may have friends who are,’ persisted Mitch.

Omari smiled. ‘Then I hope you are quick with that rifle,’ he said.

With that, he moved down the narrow alleyway.
Mitch swore under his breath. If this is a trap and I get captured as well, Nelson is going to kill me! he thought.

Omari was heading towards a shabby hut made of clay and mud. He rapped at the wooden door, and when it opened he launched into a rapid burst of Pushtu, smiling winningly all the while. The bearded man at the door looked out at Omari suspiciously, his expression becoming even more mistrustful when he saw Mitch. But Omari produced a bundle of notes from his robe. That did the trick. The man stepped aside from the door and ushered them in.

Inside, with the windows shuttered, the room was dark. The conversation between Omari and the bearded man became more serious. The smiles vanished. Mitch picked up words like ‘Yankee’ and ‘British’ in between the bearded man’s Pushtu. Omari listened, nodding, and asked more questions, all the time holding the bundle of notes. Mitch noticed the bearded man’s gaze kept flicking towards the money.

Mitch was tense, his ears alert for intruders creeping up on the house. He felt isolated here, with just his rifle to protect them. He shouldn’t have come down the alleyway without letting Two Moons and Tug know, but Omari had moved so swiftly and determinedly. And they were trying to find Gaz, so there was no time to spare.

Finally Omari peeled off several notes from the bundle and handed them to the man. Omari was smiling again. The two men bowed to one another, and then Mitch followed Omari back out into the sunshine.

‘What did he say?’ asked Mitch, as the door shut behind them.

‘I’ll tell you later,’ said Omari. ‘We have to move fast if we are to save your friend.’

Omari hurried back down the narrow alleyway, Mitch hot on his heels. They got back to the vehicle and found Tug standing outside it, an angry expression on his face.

‘I told you to keep in sight!’ he said.

‘Tell him that,’ said Mitch, gesturing at Omari.

‘I think I know where your friend might be,’ said Omari.

‘
Might
be?’ asked Tug.

‘It’s the best I could do in a short time,’ said Omari. ‘But I’m pretty sure the information I have is correct.’

‘What makes you so sure?’ asked Tug.

‘Because the man knew that if he lied to me, you would go back and kill him.’

Omari didn’t reveal the information he’d got until they had rejoined Nelson and Benny, who were waiting by the other two vehicles. As they got out, Nelson hurried towards them. ‘What have you got?’ he demanded impatiently.

‘If my information is correct, I believe your man is being held by a gang of youths led by a young extremist who came out here from England. His mother is English but his father is Pakistani. He calls himself Ajaz al Muhadeen. He has come out
here to take part in what he calls the Holy War,’ Omari explained.

‘Because of his parents?’ asked Nelson.

Omari shook his head. ‘Apparently not. It seems this young man was radicalised by fundamentalists in Britain. His father and mother are ashamed of him and have disowned him.’

‘And where is this Ajaz al Muhadeen?’ asked Benny.

‘In the next village,’ said Omari. ‘The people around here aren’t happy that he’s come because he’s stirring things up with their sons. Radicalising them. Unfortunately, there are a handful of boys with nothing to do, and he’s formed a gang. They’ve got guns.’ He sighed. ‘Ajaz al Muhadeen seems determined to make a name for himself so he will be welcomed by the Taliban as some kind of hero. If what that man said is true, taking your friend is the first part of that.’

‘It’s also the last part!’ snapped Nelson. ‘Where is this village?’

Nelson and Tug lay on the rocks and used binoculars to scan the village that lay two miles away down on the flat plain. Mitch, Two Moons and Benny were with Omari, standing beside the three vehicles, hidden out of sight in a rock gulley.

Nelson and Tug joined the others.

‘What’s the score?’ asked Benny.

‘It’s a small village just like any other,’ said Nelson. ‘Once we’re down from these hills there’s no cover between us and it. Just open country. Scrub and desert. If we go in with our Humvees we could alarm them. If what we’ve been told is true, the guys holding Gaz are just kids – they’ll be nervous and trigger happy. If they start shooting, Gaz is going to be the first one to get it.’

‘So we crawl over there, keeping low,’ suggested Two Moons. ‘Two miles on our knees is nothing. We do it all the time.’

‘My worry is we’ll get spotted,’ mused Benny. ‘It just needs one guy out herding his goats or whatever to see a slight movement and we’ll be sitting ducks. I know what it’s like for the people out here. My grandparents were Mexican sheep farmers. They sat around most of the day looking out at the land, watching for lizards and stuff. If anything moved they’d notice it and talk about it for days, even if it was just a jack rabbit.’

‘OK,’ said Nelson. ‘So how about this? No crawling, no covert stuff. We just walk straight in.’

‘Dressed as locals?’ asked Mitch.

Nelson nodded. ‘Four of us go in. One of us needs to stay here and watch Omari.’

‘I’ll be fine,’ insisted Omari.

‘If you were going to be fine, you wouldn’t have needed us in the first place,’ argued Nelson. ‘Benny, you stay here with Omari.’

Benny shook his head.

‘Colonel, I hate to be insubordinate, but don’t you think the sight of a black man in a robe might trigger a few suspicions?’

‘I could be Somali,’ said Nelson. ‘There’s loads of Islamic fundamentalists from Africa here.’

The others looked at him doubtfully.

Nelson sighed and shrugged. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘I’ll stay here and look after Omari. You guys go get Gaz.’

Gaz flexed his wrists and ankles against the ropes that held him to the chair, but the knots had been well tied. There was no way he was going to get free of them.

He looked around. He was in a single-storey house made of mud and brick, but the room had been turned into a small makeshift TV studio. A video camera on a tripod stood with its lens and microphone facing him, although at the moment both were switched off. He guessed the village only got electricity for a short time each day.

He looked at the two young men – probably aged fifteen or sixteen – who had been left to guard him. They sat cross-legged on the floor, talking in the local dialect. Both of them had automatic rifles lying across their laps. Ammunition was stacked in boxes around the room.

This place is a real ammo dump, Gaz thought. The house they’d first thrown him into had been piled high with home-made bombs, detonators lying around casually. He had smelt the fertiliser used to make the explosives. These kids meant business.

He wondered where they intended to use the bombs. Roadsides? To attack Coalition positions? Or maybe they were for suicide bombers? Pack a load of that stuff into a car and ram it into a building and
Boom!
Goodbye to the bomber and everyone for half a mile around.

He heard footsteps approaching from outside, and the two kids got to their feet, standing ready with their rifles aimed at the door. It opened and
the leader of the group entered. Ajaz al Muhadeen. Like the others, he carried an automatic rifle.

He stomped over to Gaz and stood in front of him. ‘The electricity comes back on in an hour,’ he said. ‘Are you ready to say what needs to be said for the camera?’

‘If it needs to be said, you say it,’ replied Gaz. ‘No one’s going to watch it anyway. Except your mates back home.’ Gaz grinned. ‘That’s what all this is about, isn’t it? Impressing your mates. Showing them the stupid little runt they used to make fun of reckons he’s a Big Man in Afghanistan.’

Al Muhadeen scowled and punched Gaz high on the forehead. For a second it looked as if the soldier was going to tip over backwards, but he managed to steady the chair.

Gaz grinned once again at Al Muhadeen. ‘That’ll look good on camera,’ he said mockingly. ‘A man with bruises all over his face. Still going to say I spoke of my own free will?’

Al Muhadeen looked as if he was about to punch
Gaz again, but he stopped himself. Instead, he bent down and pushed his face right up against Gaz’s. ‘You are the enemy!’ he spat. ‘You come here and defile my country …’

‘This isn’t your country,’ Gaz reminded him. ‘I’ve heard you talking on your mobile to your pals back home in England.’

‘England isn’t my home!’ Al Muhadeen burst out.

‘What about your parents?’ said Gaz.

‘My parents are no longer true to the faith!’ ranted Al Muhadeen. ‘I am freeing my people from the invaders!’ He rammed the barrel of his rifle into Gaz’s chest. ‘You will talk to the camera!’ he ordered. ‘You will say that you and your kind are wrong. You will call on the governments of Britain and America to remove all their troops from this country.’

Gaz smiled. ‘Yes, they’ll take notice of that,’ he said mockingly. ‘I can just hear the president of the US of A saying, “There’s a fella there from Newcastle gonna get his head cut off unless I
withdraw our troops and let Osama bin Laden plot against my country.”’ Gaz laughed. ‘In your dreams, pal!’

Al Muhadeen’s expression tightened. ‘You have less than an hour. When the electricity comes back, you will talk – or your death will be shown around the world.’

‘Will my family get royalties?’ asked Gaz.

Al Muhadeen gritted his teeth. ‘Trust me, you won’t find being killed so funny,’ he hissed.

The four men of Delta Unit tramped in single file along the dusty track towards the village. Really, it wasn’t even a village, just a cluster of single-storey mud and brick buildings.

‘If this is a trap we’ll be picked off one by one,’ grunted Two Moons. ‘We should have gone for the stealth option.’

‘If it is a trap, we’d be caught either way,’ Mitch said in a low voice.

As they drew nearer to the small settlement they
caught sight of movement in some of the houses. People were watching them through the windows. Then the door of the nearest house opened, and a man stepped out. Like them, he carried an automatic rifle.

‘No shooting until we get right up close,’ ordered Tug. ‘Unless they start shooting first.’

The man who had come out of the house stood in the doorway, waiting for them. His rifle remained pointed down at the ground, but each soldier kept his eyes on him, ready to take action if he made a move.

The man was dressed in local traditional dress, a long shirt over loose cotton trousers, but his head was bare. As they drew near the house, the man called out a greeting. Tug responded curtly in Pushtu.

‘What did he say?’ whispered Benny.

‘Just giving us his greetings,’ said Tug.

They were all tense, fingers hovering over triggers and ready to fire. Just a few more yards would
put them close enough to throw stun grenades in through the doorway and a window, disabling the enemy.

They drew nearer, and now they could see the man at the door clearly. He seemed very young, his attempt at a beard was straggly and thin. Again, he called out to them, but this time something in his voice had changed, and the soldiers hesitated.

And then the house blew up.