Firefight (12 page)

By the time they were ready to leave, the snow was falling
even more thickly. Junior Technician Evans drove them back
to the hut where Sami's truck was waiting, then left them
to it as Sami and the unit loaded their things on to the
new vehicle, stowing the Minimi and the grenade launchers
into the compartment alongside the snow chains, the winch
and the spare diesel. Sami looked at the Diemacos slung
across their shoulders. 'I would stow those away,' he told
them. 'They will only attract attention. You have your
handguns, do you not?'

Sami was right. If they wanted to merge into the background,
they couldn't walk around the streets of Kandahar
with heavy weaponry on display. Will nodded curtly to the
others and they stowed their guns as Sami took the driving
seat.

It was about fifteen miles from the airport to the town
of Kandahar and the snow was falling heavily. Occasionally
a rocky mound would rise up out of the earth, but apart
from these solitary hills, the immediate area was flat and
featureless. The roads were nearly deserted - whether that
was because of the snow or because people were keeping
off the road in this dangerous part of the world, it was
impossible to say. Now and then Will noticed an ordinary
Afghan by the side of the road, struggling on foot
through the snow; it didn't escape his notice how many
of them had elderly AK-47s strapped across their backs.
When they heard the truck approaching, they always
stopped and watched, unsmiling, as it passed. This was
hostile territory.

Sami drove slowly and carefully. It took more than an
hour. As they travelled, Will gave the unit their orders. 'I'll
be going in alone,' he said. 'If the four of us barge into this
café, we're going to attract attention and if our contact is
as jumpy as that idiot back at the airfield says, we can't risk
scaring him off.'

'We should cover you,' Anderson suggested. 'Take up positions
outside the café, in case anything goes wrong.'

Will thought for a moment. In a situation like this it
was all too easy to get cocky, to assume that because this
was the relatively straightforward part of the operation,
nothing could go wrong. It would be a mistake and
Anderson was right to suggest that Will needed a bit of
back-up.

He pointed at Anderson and Kennedy. 'You two,' he said,
'follow me at a distance. Keep it subtle - I don't want our
guy taking fright.' He looked at Drew. 'You,' he said, 'stay
with the truck. Once I've made contact, that will be the
RV point.'

The three men nodded their agreement as the vehicle
trundled towards Kandahar. Will pulled the slip of paper
Sami had given him from his pocket and committed the
double password to memory.

- Do you have the time?

- My watch runs slow these days.

- I know a good watchmaker in Kabul.

- Kabul is a long journey in the winter.

Once he was sure he had firmly remembered the words,
he spoke to Sami.

'Tell me more about this Ismail character. If he's going
to be coming with us, I want to know who we're dealing
with.'

'Very well,' Sami replied, politely. 'I will tell you what I
know. He is about twenty-eight years of age and his parents
were imprisoned by the Taliban when he was about seventeen.
My understanding is that a
sarinda
- an Afghan musical
instrument - was found in their house, which was considered
sinful by the regime. They both died in prison. Ismail,
I would say, is a very clever young man, but nervous at the
best of times. After his parents were imprisoned, he followed
the Taliban's rules to the letter, as most people did, so that
he would not be destined for the same fate. He took a wife,
whom I have never met, and I believe they have a young
son.'

'How did you manage to recruit him?'

Sami shrugged. 'In the usual way,' he replied. 'A mixture
of gentle persuasion and money. The people here are very
poor - they will do many things for a few extra dollars and
Ismail has a family to keep. I imagine he caught the eye of
the Taliban insurgents because he is a very devout man and
now they believe he acts as one of their -' Sami seemed
to struggle for the word. 'Sneaks,' he settled on, finally. 'But
his devotion does not, happily, extend to the kind of
extremism they espouse. I truly believe he thinks that
informing on them is a holy act, no matter how scared it
might make him feel; the money is just an added bonus.
He has been very useful, too. So useful that I do not think
all of the information he supplies is acted upon, simply in
order to maintain his cover.' Sami glanced over his shoulder
at Will. 'Someone in your government must want this
woman he knows about very badly. They have instructed
that we pay him a great deal of money to lead you to wherever
it is that she is being held.'

Will's eyes flickered towards the other three, but they did
not seem to have raised an eyebrow at what Sami had said;
and Sami was evidently too discreet to question Will any
further.

'Ismail's English is serviceable, but not perfect,' the fixer
continued, 'and he is not a physically strong man. I would
advise that you do not expect him to fight or to endure
extreme environments in the same way that you have
become used to.'

'Sounds a fucking liability to me,' Drew complained.

'Maybe,' Will said, 'but without him we don't have an
objective. He comes with us, liability or not.'

They drove on in silence.

As they hit the outskirts of the town, the roads became
less treacherous as more vehicles appeared. Among the elderly
and run-down civilian cars, Will saw a number of military
trucks bearing the UN logo, which told of the heavy military
presence in this part of the world. Normally this would
make their job more secure, but for the moment, Will didn't
want anyone to link them to NATO, the UN or the British
or American army. What they were doing was under the
radar and he wanted to keep it that way. Sami took them
off the main road as soon as he could and continued their
journey through a series of intricate, winding streets, not
ideal for a large vehicle, but they were at least clear of the
various security forces that would be barricading other
entrances to the city.

The further they travelled into the centre, the more
people there were. Large numbers of Afghans - some in
traditional dress, others wearing more Westernised clothes
- went about their daily business, shuffling up and down
the snowy streets, moving quickly because of the snow.
Some of them carried wicker baskets of food; others were
empty-handed. No one paid any attention to their truck
as it trundled past; in fact, nobody seemed to pay attention
to anything.

Surprisingly frequently Will caught sight of two or three
soldiers in camouflage uniform and carrying what looked
to him like excessively heavy weaponry for patrolling the
streets. There weren't many cars on the road and those that
were had clouds of greasy diesel smoke billowing from their
exhausts; they looked rickety in the extreme. Walking was
clearly a far more common method of getting around, so
several people walked in the road, all but ignoring the beeps
from the horns of those who were trying to drive. At one
point the unit stopped outside what could only be described
as a shack, from which the appetising aroma of meat being
grilled over hot coals wafted towards them. A customer
bought a kebab, but Will noticed that the shopkeeper refused
to hand it over until he had the money firmly in his hand.

Further along, they passed what looked to Will like a
former administrative building. It was ramshackle now, its
windows blown out and one side reduced to a pile of rubble
- a monument to some violent incident in the not too
distant past.

'We don't want to be dropped off too near the café, but
it needs to be in sight,' he told Sami as they passed an
impressive-looking mosque, its golden dome heavy with
snow and people swarming outside.

'I know a suitable place,' Sami replied. 'It's not far now.'

The street where they stopped was thin but straight -
Will noted with approval that they had a good line of sight
at either end and they could see directly on to a bustling
square. Anderson and Kennedy took their Sig 226s from
the weapons cache - the slightly larger firearm was fine for
them as they wouldn't be getting up close and personal
with the contact, at least not yet.

'Is that the bazaar up ahead?' Will asked Sami.

The fixer nodded his head. 'The café is one of the doors
you can see on the other side of the square.'

'Give us thirty minutes,' Will told Drew, tersely. 'If we
haven't returned, come and get us.'

'Roger that,' Drew murmured. If he was upset at not
being on the front line, he didn't show it.

'Remember,' Sami continued, 'Ismail is nervous. If you
do not recite the double password
exactly
correctly, he will
take fright and it will take weeks to regain his trust. Do
not mention my name to him - he will only deny knowledge.'
He turned to Drew. 'You can remember the route
out?'

Drew nodded his head.

'Good,' Sami replied. 'Ismail will not want to risk being
seen with me, not in public. I have to go now.' He opened
the car door. 'Good luck.'

He climbed down from the car, walked nonchalantly to
the end of the deserted street and disappeared around the
corner. 'That's the last we'll see of him,' Anderson muttered.

'He's a good fixer,' Will said. 'He's thought of everything.
OK, let's go. Remember, not too close.' He opened up the
back of the truck and jumped out.

Kandahar had a certain smell to it, he noticed as he
headed down the street. The smell of rotting rubbish, of
food cooking, of sewers; and the blanket of snow that had
fallen over the city could not hide the unpleasantness of it.
As he walked, snowflakes settled on his clothes and he
reached the end of the street with a light dusting already
covering him. He knew that by now Anderson and Kennedy
would have exited the vehicle, but he didn't look behind
to check - it wasn't necessary, and he didn't want to draw
attention to his trail.

To his right, he saw a large makeshift wall across the road,
constructed of what looked like bags of concrete. Armed
men were questioning anyone who wanted to drive through,
as well as a fair number of ordinary Afghan pedestrians.
Will was pleased Sami had directed them round that and
he turned left to follow the rough pavement that surrounded
the main square.

The square itself was lined with bombed-out buildings,
but the centre, separated from the buildings by the
road that was still almost empty of cars, was crowded: a
huge market place was laid out and despite the relentless
snow, crowds of Afghan women, some dressed in
warm robes, others completely covered by the burka,
gathered round talking in little groups. Stallholders stood
guard over stalls that held small amounts of sorry-looking
produce and the whole thing was covered by a large
canopy that looked almost precarious under its heavy
blanket of snow.

There was a sudden roar as a plane flew overhead. Will
looked up and recognised a Harrier patrol aircraft, but
nobody else, it seemed, paid it any attention. Clearly these
people, inhabitants of a war-ravaged country for so long,
had seen so many air patrols that they had ceased to be a
curiosity.

Will gave himself a moment to get his bearings. The
north side of the square, Sami had said. He glanced in that
direction, over the top of the heads of the women in the
bazaar; there seemed to be a crowded area on the other
side, so he started walking round the edge of the square to
see if that might be his place.

He had only gone a few paces, however, when his path
was blocked. Two men - burly with dark rings under their
eyes - blocked his way. They both carried ancient AK-47s.
Neither of them was in military uniform. Just a couple of
thugs, Will realised, intuitively. One of them spoke harshly
to him in a language he didn't understand - Pashto, no
doubt - but the tone of his voice made it clear he was
demanding something.

The muscles around Will's eyes tensed up slightly and
he felt his right hand brush instinctively to his waist
where the Sig was concealed. The last thing he wanted
now was a fight. He felt sure his contact would be
looking out for him, but if there was a scene, he might
be frightened off. Moreover, a gunfight would undoubtedly
attract the attention of the heavily armed troops dotted
around.

The man spoke again, more aggressively this time.
Without looking, Will knew that Anderson and Kennedy
would have their hands firmly round their gun handles
now, ready to react with swift, brutal force if anything went
wrong.

And it looked to Will as if that was just what was about
to happen.

From behind him, he heard a familiar sound - the metallic
click of a safety catch being removed. The men looked
behind Will with an expression of distaste; he turned round
to see two armed soldiers brandishing their weapons. One
of them pointed his gun at the Afghans, then jabbed the
barrel to the side to indicate that they should move on.
The Afghans hesitated, but after a moment they did as they
were told, walking down the street away from Will, but
still casting a threatening gaze over their shoulder as they
went.

'You shouldn't be walking around here by yourself,' one
of the soldiers said in an American accent. 'What are you
doing in Kandahar?'

Will had to think quickly. 'Private security,' he said with
brash confidence. Beyond the soldiers he clocked his
colleagues. Anderson was on the side of the road, his hand
under his woollen overcoat; Kennedy had taken up position
in the centre of the square. Both of them, Will could
tell in an instant, were ready to react.