Firefight (20 page)

'How so?' the woman on the bed asked, weakly.

Will fought the urge to spit it out. Latifa's denial of her
brother's true nature angered him. He turned away. Fuck
it. For all he cared Pankhurst could torture the truth out
of her when they got back - one way or another, she
would
give them any information she had.

But as he approached his seat he stopped. Something
made him spin round and stride back up to her. Before he
knew it, the words were tumbling out of his mouth. 'I
know,' he hissed at her, 'because Faisal Ahmed planted the
bomb that killed my family. A mother and a daughter. So
don't try and tell me that bastard was whiter than white,
because I've seen the evidence and I'm not fucking buying
it!'

His outburst seemed to echo around the cabin.

He and Latifa stared at each other and something seemed
to crackle between them. Will heard himself breathing
heavily, trying to calm himself with great gulps of air.

Finally Latifa spoke. 'I am sorry for the death of your
family,' she said, meekly. 'When I was young I saw my
mother and father murdered in front of me. I know something
of how you feel. Faisal too, he saw -'

'Forget the excuses,' Will snapped. 'Do you know where
your brother is or not?'

Latifa stared at him, but her lips remained firmly shut.

'Fine,' Will retorted to her meaningful silence. 'In case you're
interested, it's not just the British government who want to
find your brother. It's the CIA too and they're not exactly
well known for being shy and retiring about stuff like this.
Trust me - you won't like the way they get people to tell
them the things they want to know. But it's your choice.'

'You are right,' Latifa said, firmly. 'It
is
my own choice.
Your family meant everything to you, I can see that. So
perhaps you will understand why it is that I cannot betray
my brother, no matter what it is that he has done.'

Will felt his lips thinning.

'You have come a long way to rescue me,' Latifa said,'and
for that I am more grateful than I can tell you. But you
have seen what the Taliban did to me; you have seen the
wicked things they inflicted upon my body. Now you, too,
are threatening to try and extract the same information out
of me. It makes you no better than them.'

She winced, as though a sudden bolt of pain had run
through her and Will noticed that she shifted her bandaged
feet. She breathed heavily for a moment before speaking
again.

'And what is it, I wonder,' she asked, her voice a curious
mixture of bemusement and contempt, 'that makes you
think that if the Taliban cannot torture Faisal's whereabouts
out of me, with their viciousness and their lack of regard
for human life or suffering, the British or the Americans
can?'

Will looked at her face. Despite her weakness, despite
her fever, despite everything that she had gone through, it
carried an expression of indomitable determination. In that
instant, he knew that the Afghan woman lying before him
was not messing around.

No matter what he had done, she would sooner die than
betray her brother. Faisal Ahmed could kill thousands -
millions - and still she would keep her own counsel.

If she knew where he was, she would never, ever tell
them.

'I think I would like to sleep now,' she whispered; and
as she spoke, her eyes closed.

Will stood there for a minute, not knowing what to do
or what to say. Then he kicked his heels around, found a
sleeping tablet and swallowed it hungrily.

It was a long flight back to Brize Norton and the last
thing he wanted was to be awake with the thoughts that
were now swimming around in his confused and angry
head.

Will awoke suddenly.

His body was aching, but his mind was instantly aware.
There was a change in the sound of the engines, a more
high-pitched whine that suggested they were losing altitude.
He looked around him. Latifa was asleep, but Drew
and Kennedy had woken and were looking out of the
window.

'Something's up,' Kennedy said.

'What do you mean?'

'Look at the time.'

Will glanced at his watch. Three in the morning,
Afghanistan time. They should have landed at Brize Norton
hours ago.

'Care to tell us what's going on?' Drew asked Will, pointedly.

'Fucked if I know,' Will muttered. He turned around and
headed up to the flight deck, where he banged on the door
of the cockpit. 'What's going on?' he shouted. 'Where the
hell are we?'

The door clicked open and the flight lieutenant of the
plane appeared. 'Change of course,' he told Will.

'What the hell do you mean?' Will asked him, completely
confused.

'We got our orders a few hours ago. We've been redirected.'

'Where to?'

'Poland.'

Will blinked. 'Poland? What the hell are we doing in
Poland?'

'We were hoping you could tell us,' the flight lieutenant
said, pointedly. 'I think it's more likely something to do
with your cargo than ours, don't you?'

Will swore under his breath, then strode back to be with
the others.

'Any info?' Kennedy asked, tersely.

Will told them the news and both SAS men looked
baffled. 'What are we doing landing in Poland?' Drew asked.

'I don't know,' Will replied, quietly, but in truth he had
an idea. He remembered his conversation with Lowther
Pankhurst and Don Priestley, about how they had extracted
the information about Faisal Ahmed in the first place. He
glanced over at Latifa, still slumbering.

Sleep well, he thought to himself. It won't last for long.

They strapped themselves in and prepared for landing.

As soon as the aircraft came to a halt, Will was up. A
flight of steps had been moved to the side of the plane and
he bounded down them into the icy night air. The snow
here was thicker than it had been in the Stan and it was
blowing a blizzard - the plane had been lucky to land at
all. The airfield was not busy, but there were a couple of
other planes parked up and a small convoy of military trucks
were waiting on the tarmac. Grim-faced soldiers, all heavily
armed, were milling around; and standing by one of the
trucks was a solitary figure. He wore a heavy black coat
and held a black umbrella, though it didn't do much good
as the snow was drifting sideways against his clothes. He
looked quite out of place against all the military men in
their camouflage fatigues.

It was only when Will was a good deal closer that he
realised who it was.

'Good morning, Will,' Lowther Pankhurst said, as blandly
as if he were greeting someone in the office on a Monday
morning. He turned to a couple of soldiers standing nearby.
'Get the woman down,' he ordered.

'Yes, sir,' the soldiers repeated in unison. Will detected
their American accents.

'What the hell's going on?' he asked Pankhurst, angrily.
'What are you doing here? What are any of us doing here?'

'Please, Will,' Pankhurst said, mildly. 'Calm down.'

'Don't tell me to calm down!'
he raged. 'I've just been through
hell to get this woman. I want to know what you're doing
with her. Why weren't we warned about this?'

'We're going to ask her a few questions. That was always
the plan, wasn't it?'

'In Poland?'

'Yes, Will. In Poland.'

'Why?'

'I think you know why, Will.'

Pankhurst was right. In the last thirty seconds he had
confirmed all his suspicions. 'Black camp?' he asked.

Pankhurst's face twitched slightly. 'Really, Will, it's not a
term I'm particularly comfortable with. But yes, there are
certain resources available to us here that are not available
to us back home. It's one of Don Priestley's little operations
and he's kindly given us access. It really is amazing how
skilful they are here.'

Will felt sick. Despite everything he knew about Latifa
Ahmed, he had seen what the Taliban had done to her. He
had seen what she had gone through. Talk about out of the
frying pan and into the fucking fire.

'You're wasting your time,' he told Pankhurst, quietly.

'I beg your pardon?'

'I said you're wasting your time.'

'I sincerely hope not, Will,' Pankhurst said, pointedly. 'I
understand you're one man down. It would be a terrible
tragedy if nothing came of your mission.'

'You're lucky we're not four men down.'

'We're
all
lucky you're not four men down, Will. Ahmed
could strike at any moment - the intelligence chatter has
gone off the scale. You did well to find the woman and
bring her back safely. But you needn't worry about it any
more. We'll be taking care of things from here on in.'

Pankhurst turned his back on Will.

'She won't talk,' the SAS man called after the Director
General. 'I've already interrogated her. I think she knows
something about Ahmed's location, but I'm telling you, there's
no way on God's earth that you'll make her give him up!'

Pankhurst stopped, paused a moment, then turned back
to look at Will. 'I think, perhaps, you underestimate just
how persuasive these people can be.'

Will sneered at him. 'Actually,' he said, 'I don't think I
do. I think
you
underestimate just how much Latifa Ahmed
has been through. The Taliban wanted Ahmed's location,
too, and they did things to that woman that you couldn't
even imagine.'

A mock frown furrowed Pankhurst's brow. 'I do hope,
Will, that you haven't become too emotionally involved in
this mission.'

'Don't give me that crap, Pankhurst. I'm here
because
I'm
emotionally involved. When I found Latifa Ahmed, she
wasn't much more than a few hours from being dead. Push
her too hard and you'll kill her yourself and anything she
knows will die with her.'

But as he spoke, he noticed that Pankhurst was looking
beyond him. Will turned back to see Latifa's stretcher bed
being carried off the plane. In a moment of madness he
started to calculate his chances of taking down the men
who were carrying her. But of course, it would be idiotic;
even if he managed it, what would he do then? Besides,
he had his orders. And wasn't he meant to despise Latifa
Ahmed anyway?

'You can travel with me, if you like, Will,' Pankhurst interrupted
his thoughts, quietly. 'Or you can travel with your
unit. Either way, I wouldn't recommend staying here. It's
terribly cold and we really don't know how long this is
going to take.'

*

The convoy trundled slowly through the snow and the
gloom. Latifa had been loaded into a separate truck along
with a couple of guys who said they were medics but
who, Will knew, would soon be involved in something
that they surely never expected when they underwent their
medical training. Will had absolutely no idea where they
were and began to lose his bearings as the truck wove its
way down a series of winding lanes. There were no houses,
no signs of life. This truly was the middle of nowhere.

He had chosen to travel with Drew and Kennedy, but
was beginning to wish he hadn't. Clearly they didn't believe
Will when he said he'd had no idea that they were going
to be re-routed, and they were making their displeasure
felt by a stern silence that was, Will couldn't help thinking,
more suited to a couple of teenage girls than two burly
Regiment soldiers. He felt he owed them an explanation.

'They're taking her to a black camp,' he said, darkly. 'They
want to torture information out of her. They can't do it in
England, so they have these places—'

'Yeah, thanks Einstein,' Kennedy interrupted. 'We know
what a black camp is.'

'I didn't know about this,' Will reiterated.

'Whatever,' Kennedy said, flatly. 'They'd better go easy on
her, though. She's been pretty well fucked-up. Slap her on
the arse and she'll probably drop dead.'

'Yeah, maybe,' Will replied. He wasn't too sure.

After about an hour of driving, they came to a halt and
de-bussed. Will looked around. There was not much here
- just a small hillock, covered with thick snow, in the side
of which was a concrete door. Yellow light flooded from
it. The truck carrying Latifa opened up and the SAS men
watched as the woman they had rescued was stretchered
down and carried through the door.

Pankhurst had joined the team and he ushered them in
with a sweeping gesture as though they were about to enter
a decent restaurant. 'Shall we?'

They found themselves filing down a flight of steps and
along a dim underground corridor. As they walked, Will
peered over at Latifa's bed. She seemed drowsy, but aware.
Their eyes met and in that moment he felt her fear. She
could tell what was coming - of that he could be sure.

Nobody spoke as the sound of their footsteps echoed
down the corridor.

Suddenly the soldiers pushing Latifa's stretcher bed came
to a halt. There were two doors - they opened one of
them, took her in and shut the door behind them. Will,
Pankhurst, Drew and Kennedy were left in the corridor.
Pankhurst turned to Drew and Kennedy. 'You two,' he said,
'there's a room down there on the left. You can wait for
us there.'

They looked at each other a bit uneasily, but even Kennedy
seemed reluctant to offer one of his usual sarcastic ripostes.
They stepped aside and followed their instructions, while
Pankhurst spoke to Will. 'I want you in on this, Will,' he
said, quietly.

'Why?' asked Will, sickened at the thought of what he
was about to witness. Shooting a Taliban guard in the head
was one thing; watching his own side torture a defenceless
woman was quite another and he wasn't sure he wanted to
get involved.

'Because,' Pankhurst said slowly, not taking his eyes from
Will's, 'if she gives us Ahmed's location, I think it's a good
idea that you hear it directly. You'll want to go after him
yourself, won't you?'

Will felt his lips curl. Yet again, Pankhurst was manipulating
him; yet again, the Director General had read him
well.

'All right,' he muttered. 'Let's get it over with.' They
walked through the adjoining door.

The room in which Will found himself had three concrete
walls. The fourth wall was a huge sheet of glass looking on
to the next room and he could tell from the dark sheen
that it was one-way. A small loudspeaker was embedded
into one of the concrete walls, through which they could
hear everything that was going on. Will watched what was
happening in silence.

Latifa had been wheeled into the room by the soldiers,
who swiftly left. Waiting for her were two other men, both
in white coats. One of them - a red-haired man with round
spectacles and a grim expression - gave Latifa a cursory
examination. He looked at her bandaged feet. Even from
here Will could tell that blood from the wounds had started
to saturate them, but the man - presumably a doctor of
some kind - did not seem to think it was worthwhile
replacing them. Using his thumb he pulled down her lower
eyelid, before talking to his colleague.

'She needs an adrenaline shot,' he said in an American
drawl. 'Otherwise it's not going to have the same effect.'

His colleague, whose grey hair was thinning, nodded.
Behind him was a white cabinet from which he removed
a glass vial filled with a clear liquid and a hypodermic
needle. He filled the needle in a matter of seconds, while
the red-haired man started to roll up the sleeve of Latifa's
robe to find a suitable place for the injection.

'Jesus,' he muttered as he saw the mottled bruising that
went all the way up her thin arm. He went around to
the opposite side of the stretcher bed and tried the other
arm. This was also bruised, but not so badly, and he
located a suitable patch of skin. The other man passed
him the injection and he clinically punctured the skin
with it.

The effect was immediate. Latifa's breathing rate increased
and her eyes shot wide open. The two men took a step
backwards and observed her in a slightly detached manner,
as Latifa tried to raise herself on her elbows. Then they
looked at each other. 'She's ready,' the red-haired man stated.
'They can come in.'

His colleague left the room and returned less than a
minute later with two other men. One of them had a thick
mop of blonde hair and was carrying a large leather bag;
the other had a shiny, shaved head and a thin, aquiline nose.

'Strap her down,' he said to the blonde-haired man in an
American accent. His colleague delved into the bag and
pulled out several sturdy leather straps.

'Don't you dare touch me!' Latifa hissed as he
approached, but the man didn't pay attention. He pushed
her back down on to the bed and, ignoring her pathetic
struggles, shifted her a bit further up so that her head was
dangling over the edge of the bed. Then he wound the
straps around her body and under the stretcher several
times before buckling each one tightly. There was no way
she could move.

The shiny-headed man turned to the two medics in white
coats. 'You can leave now,' he told them; they quickly left
the room.

Will glanced to his side at Pankhurst. The Director General
of MI5 was standing bolt upright, his jaw clenched. 'What
are they going to do to her?' Will asked.

'It's very quick,' Pankhurst replied, quietly. 'Most people
break in about ten seconds. Fifteen at the most. She won't
suffer for long.'

Will narrowed his eyes. There was nothing in the room
that looked to him anything like an implement of torture.
As Pankhurst was speaking, the two men had wheeled Latifa's
bed to the far end of the room, where a short length of
rubber hose was attached to a tap in the wall.