Distant Annihilation. (Tarquin Collingwood Adventures Book 1) (22 page)

“Yes, I’m afraid so,” mused Guy sadly.

“Was it necessary to kill him?” I asked referring to the man, whom Guy had just slain.

“Yes! He was a member of the Iranian Revolutionary Guard. Would you rather he arrested or killed you? He was asking you what you were doing here and who you were. He had to be neutralised before he drew his weapon or called for help.”

“Well in that case I’m in your debt,” I said feeling chastened, before adding, “Why didn’t you reveal yourself in the cave?”

“The fewer people that know the better – even those on your own side. Besides you can’t betray, inadvertently or otherwise that which you don’t know,” Guy explained before asking, “When are your explosives timed to kick off?”

“Five o’clock this morning.”

“What’s the time now?” he asked.

I looked at my Breitling casually, “Its 04.42am,” I said looking back at Guy.

His eyes seemed to enlarge in horror, “We’d better get out of here sharpish. We’re exposed here on the floor. Come on!” he ordered.

“What’s the problem?”

“What’s the problem?” he queried aghast, “This valley is about to be rocked by your explosives and you need to ask?”

“What do you mean this valley? We’re in Iran....aren’t we?” I asked with a horrible aura of uncertainty coming over me.

“Like hell we are!” he rebuked me brusquely. “What’s wrong with you Collingwood? Get a grip! We’re right in the heart of the Bactria Valley! Come on!” he roared.

He began running and I followed, feeling like an unutterable fool. I had thought I was safe in Iran, when unbeknown to me I had been in the Bactria Valley all along. My thoughts were consumed with self reproach for my folly; so I just followed, with no notion as to where he was leading. After a moment I could see the silhouette of some of the Portakabins that made up part of the building site on my left some way off. We then reached the base of the valley wall, above which I deduced we had been, when we had reconnoitred the site two days earlier with our binoculars. Guy found a path and led me up it. Finding my footing was precarious in the dark, whereas Guy made easy progress. He was stricken with urgency and it was all I could do to keep up.

“Where are we going?” I panted.

“We’re here now and it will be five o’clock any moment; so we might as well watch,” he gasped between strides as he negotiated a path that took us inexorably higher, “It should be quite spectacular. Don’t you want to see your mission reach its climax?”

Whilst mindful of the need to escape, the temptation was too great. The C4 which we had carried so benignly would now be shown off to devastating effect, “Yes I suppose so.”

After a few moments Guy judged that we were high enough for him to get a good enough view of the base - about half way up the wall. We therefore stopped at a spot where the lay of the rock enabled us to sit and for me to get my breath back. The time was 04.56hrs. Now that I had a respite I could orientate my surroundings
. The Nissan huts were on the opposite side of Khazali’s Mound to the base. I’d come round the southern end of the Mound when I bumped into that fucking Persian and was rescued by Guy.

“So tell me about Simon Hurd,” I invited.

Guy went on to explain that he was wearing a silicon face mask, which completely changed the shape of his facial features and provided a better disguise; but additionally meant that should he come across Hurd, he would be all the more difficult for the traitor to recognise. He explained that Hurd had been put under surveillance three months earlier, when some confidential documents went missing.

“This had shown that he had been having secret meetings with the Iranian Secret Service and one of their Military Attaches in Moscow and Vienna, during which he was secretly photographed receiving bulging brown envelopes. It was assumed that these contained cash; this was corroborated when analysis of his bank account revealed large deposits shortly after each of these meetings. We then planted false information to which only Hurd had access to see whether he would betray it to the Persians – he did! We have a double agent in VEVAK – the Iranian Secret Service; that’s how we know. That left no doubt as to his guilt. In these three months he’s been disclosing British Foreign Office communications with our Embassies; Royal Navy deployments in the Persian Gulf; Secret Intelligence that has been pooled with our allies and information about the level of protection that British Army vehicles have in withstanding IAD’s in Afghanistan....”

This last one made me particularly furious; for I knew men who had been the victims of IAD’s.

“....that’s just what we know he’s betrayed. We don’t know how long Hurd has been betraying secrets. So Lord knows what else the cur has revealed to our enemies –Iranian or otherwise.”

“Is money his sole motivation?” I asked my anger rising.

“Everything suggests that, yes.”

If there was one thing I couldn’t abide it was a traitor. There were different gradations of treachery: for ideology, misguided loyalty, blackmail, manipulation by a lover - these were all bad enough; but to betray your country for something as base as money was as low as one could get. I remembered my meeting with Hurd at the Embassy just before I met Ollie, when he treated me in a rather off hand manner and dismissively urged me to return to London. Had he been before me now, I would’ve executed him as a traitor without any compunction.

The time was 04.59hrs. I had witnessed a few explosions in my time in the army; but they were all insignificant compared to what I was about to witness. I was excited; this diminished at least for the time, my feelings of exhaustion. Finding Guy’s companionship after being so alone had rather rejuvenated my spirits and I felt strangely elated as I counted down the seconds. As I surveyed the valley floor down below me, there was barely any sign of life. Perhaps that was just as well; for it would mean fewer casualties. I’d seen enough slaying in the last few days to last me awhile. Just then my Breitling turned from 04.59 to 05.00hrs – the climax had at long last been reached upon which my entire time in this country had been predicated. I looked up toward the wall of Khazali’s Mound overlooking the base, which was partially obscured by the tarpaulin canopy and the semi darkness. Visibility was improving before our very eyes. Dawn was now approaching; and only the last vestiges of fog remained. I breathed softly in anticipation, as a shiver of excitement went through me. Guy was looking intently toward the object of our hopes, his back to me a little to my left. I focused on the top of the valley wall overlooking the base, now just a silhouette, where I had been the previous day; and as I did so I recalled our efforts in planting the C4. Several seconds had now gone by since my Breitling struck five, yet nothing had happened. A pang of self doubt gripped me and numerous permutations as to what m
ight have gone wrong flooded in to my mind.

Then in the distance I heard an echo that punctured the air, followed by a groaning sound and I froze and listened keenly. Just then a terrible crashing sound pierced through the cold air across the valley floor to my ears and I saw movement above the base. Small booming type echoes could be heard – as each piece of C4 that we had so diligently placed did the work for which they had been ordained. The wall was moving – initially an ominous groan could be heard and then abruptly it increased in volume to a deafening and awesome thunder. The walls of Khazali’s Mound overlooking the base, just moved down in a crescendo, partially obscured by a cloud of dust. Many large fragments were being flung violently into the distance; such was the potency of the C4. There was a stupendous rumble which reverberated from under the valley floor; as if the earth was expressing its outrage from its subterranean bowels, affronted by our deed. Just at that instance I felt a gentle tremor. It came from the ground upon which I was standing; it emanated through my feet and up my legs to my entire being. Guy must have felt it too, for he looked over to me and nodded in admiration. The impact of thousands of tons of rock crashing down was such that even at our distance and height we could feel it. In a sense it was an earthquake. My breast swelled with pride for I had made the earth move - well the Bactria Valley if one wants to be pedantic. I was mesmerised and overawed by the spectacle before me. Enormous pieces of rock, each weighing several tonnes, as well as many smaller pieces; were now crashing, tumbling and being hurled down, on or around the base, just as we had hoped for. Consequently, the canopy collapsed and was partially buried in a mass of debris. I peered over and down into the valley floor below and saw a few guards awoken from there slumber running amok.

“How much more spectacular would it be if we could witness this annihilation more closely?” I shouted, as our labours bore witness to the climax of our endeavours.

Guy smiled, amused at my choice of words, “This is a safe distance to watch your annihilation,” he shouted back paternally.

I thought about how far I had come for this denouement - from England, via Russia and the wastes of Azakistan, for this “
distant annihilation,
” in this seemingly never ending stratagem known as the Great Game; into which I had now been well and truly initiated as a player. The mass of rectangular concrete that made up the surface of the base was now largely covered in debris, which had however, failed to penetrate the base. But no matter, it would’ve been destroyed from within its very foundations I thought with conceit, as I recalled the explosives I had placed in its very depths, to which the subterranean rumblings could be attributed.

Almost as abruptly as it had started, the explosions, the violence unleashed and the accompanying cacophony of thunderous vibrations and crashes - akin to the death throes of some ancient beast faded away. This was replaced by the shouts of confusion of the Persians beneath us, as a cloud of dust rose slowly above the debris.

“Guy, the Iranians are looking for me, or they will be when they discover I’ve escaped,” I pleaded turning to him.

“You’ve escaped?” he asked astonished.

I explained how I was caught in the base, taken to the Guest House where I was imprisoned and interrogated by Rostami, before escaping in the van.

“You’ve certainly lead an eventful life here in Azakistan,” he said smiling.

“My job here is finished Guy. I need to get the hell out!” I said forcibly.

“Of course,” he said assuming a more sober demeanour, “Let’s take advantage of their confusion,” he nodded, referring to the Persians below us. And with that we commenced our descent down to the valley floor from whence we had come.

“What was your original escape plan?” asked Guy as we negotiated our descent.

I explained that the plan was to go into Iran from where we would make our own way home - the rational being that they wouldn’t look for us there.

“Yes, sounds sensible, especially as the border is close by,” he said condescendingly.

Just before we reached the bottom Guy gave me a cloth which he instructed me to use to cover my head in the style of a native. We could hear shouting from the base as we reached the valley floor and turned right to go in the opposite direction. Dawn had arrived as we moved like shadows. A couple of oncoming Persians ran past us, shouting to each other, barely giving us a second glance. I recognised after a moment that the path we were taking was the one I took with Pahlavi after my arrest the previous night. After a moment several parked vehicles came into view a little way ahead. I could see no one around us. We noticed that the driver’s door to a 4WD, parked four vehicles along from the one closest to us was open. Emanating from this door was cigarette smoke and an electronic hiss and crackle, as if from a headphone. Guy turned in my direction and put his finger to his lips. The vehicles were parked side on to each other to our right. Guy moved ahead of me as we passed the first of the vehicles, he then turned right so that he came upon the open driver’s door. Had this man not heard the blast? Or had he lapsed into a stupor of indifference. Guy moved stealth like as he closed with his quarry. I got out my knife. The man had his eyes closed and was listening to some loud music via earphones as he sat in the car, deaf to the world. His left arm was held listlessly down by his side, in which hand was held his cigarette. Brandishing his knife Guy then pounced....

CHAPTER 28 – DESTRUCTION AND DEATH.

When Guy was within a metre of the man he sprang like a coiled python. Acting in one movement he placed his right arm around his victim’s neck and with his left arm held the knife to his face as he used his own body weight to force his prey to lie down across the front passenger seat pinning him down. His earphones fell away. I then ran around to the other side and opened the front passenger
door. Guy was speaking Farsi softly but malevolently into the ear of the man, who was clearly petrified. The Persian just shook his head vigorously in agreement, as he perspired, terror written on his face.

Guy then looked up to me as he lay prostrate holding down his prey, “Cover him with your knife and then get in,” he instructed.

Guy released his quarry and quickly got in the back seat, directly behind the driver’s; whilst my knife was poised, ready to terminate the Persian at any hint of disobedience. The Persian sat upright in the driver’s seat. Guy tapped the Persian’s upper arm from his position behind him and told him abruptly to keep his hands where he could see them and to fasten his seat belt. The man fumbled around and started the engine in a rather leisurely fashion. Guy was not impressed; for he leaned forward and placed one hand on the man’s shoulder and with the other he held a knife against the man’s throat forcing him to tilt his head upwards to relieve the pressure of the blade. Guy whispered very deliberately and icily; his mouth right up against the man’s ear; to leave him in no doubt that Guy was not to be trifled with. I watched the knife and was convinced that if any more pressure were applied it would break the skin and draw blood. Guy’s bloodcurdling threats and promises of violence in Farsi, sounded terrifying enough to me, combined with the knife to his throat the Persian’s spirit of defiance withered away.