Firefight (25 page)

The fuse box was just ahead of him. He illuminated his
torch and pointed it at the wall.

He blinked.

The door to the box was hanging open; inside was a
mess of wires and foam.

No one else in the house had done that to the fuse box
It could only mean one thing.

'
Oh my God
,' he whispered to himself, a sudden, debilitating
dread creeping through his limbs.'
Ahmed. He's already
here.
'

And it was only then that he heard the gunshots from
above.

Sixty seconds.

That was how long Faisal Ahmed gave it to allow whoever
was heading down to the fuse box to get there.

He silently stood up on the ceiling joist, holding on to
the top of the rope with one hand, clutching his MP5
with the other. A flick of a switch and his NV goggles
powered up. Everything around him became suffused in a
grainy green light. Looking down, he saw the area of the
ceiling that he had scored and weakened.

And then he jumped. The ceiling plaster shattered everywhere
as he crashed through into the room below. As soon
as he felt the rope tighten, he started to slide down it,
looking around to take in everything in the room. Latifa
was in the corner, sitting in a chair: she looked around
blindly in the darkness. Next to her was a man with a
weapon. The gun had clearly been aimed at his sister's head,
but now the man was in the process of swinging it round
in Ahmed's direction.

Ahmed acted without hesitation. The laser sight illuminated
its target and a single head shot was all it took to put
the man to the floor.

On the other side of the room was the second
man. He too seemed only to have the vaguest sense in
the darkness of where Ahmed was. The second shot from
the MP5 hit him in the shoulder and threw him against
the wall; the third was more accurate and finished him
off.

By the time Faisal Ahmed hit the floor, both of Latifa's
guards lay dead.

He had to move quickly. The third man would have been
alerted to his presence by the sound of gunfire and even
now would be hurtling up the stairs.

'Faisal?' he heard Latifa say. Her voice was terrified.

'
Did they hurt you?
' he asked in their native Pashto.

'
No
,' she replied. '
But I cannot walk easily
.'

Still holding the rope, Ahmed strode over to her and,
with one swift movement, grabbed her around the waist
and slung her over his shoulders.

As he did so, there was a banging on the door. 'Drew!'
a voice called. 'Kennedy! Unlock it! Let me in!'

Calmly, Ahmed aimed his MP5 at the door. The weapon
was powerful enough to burst through the wood and take
out his final enemy.

'
No!
' Latifa hissed. '
Do not shoot him.
'

'
What do you mean?
'

'
I owe that man my life, Faisal. Do not shoot him.
'

Faisal Ahmed had never been able to deny his sister;
against his better judgement he hurried to the window. A
burst of fire from the MP5 shattered the panes and a swipe
of his arm cleared the fragmented glass from the edges.
There was a sound of heavy gunshots from behind him as
the man on the other side of the door started to shoot it
through - it made Latifa gasp, but Faisal Ahmed remained
coldly calm. There was plenty of rope left and they'd be
out of here in seconds. He heaved himself and his sister
through the window, then ignored the feel of the rope
burning into his free hand as the two of them slid down
to the ground.

There was nothing he could do to make the rope useless
to his pursuer and he momentarily cursed himself for
honouring his sister's request. But it was too late now. All
he could do was run.

*

Will crashed through the door, a sick feeling running through
every part of his body. The moment he was in the room
he flashed the torch all around. The light fell first on
Kennedy's body: the SAS man's face was an unrecognisable
mess of blood and bone. 'Jesus,' Will whispered, before
hunting out Drew. The third of their little unit was slumped
half against the wall and even in the semi-darkness Will
could see his blood still gushing from his gaping head wound.

And Latifa was nowhere to be seen.

As he stood there, his mind clamouring with shocked
alarm, he became aware of the hole in the ceiling and the
rope trailing from the joists and out of the window. How
long had Faisal Ahmed been up there? he wondered. And
then it all became clear to him, how he had fooled them.
He must have been waiting for his moment for at least
twenty-four hours.

The shame of being outwitted and the anger at losing
Drew and Kennedy spurred him into action. Ahmed had
Latifa. He couldn't move quickly with her, so Will could
still make chase. Running to the window, he grabbed the
rope and slipped down to the ground, then stopped to listen.
Sure enough, there was a rustling up ahead, eastwards, in
the forest. UMP in hand, he followed the noise.

Seconds later he was beyond the boundary of the house
and standing on the path that led away from it. He heard
footsteps in the distance - it sounded like someone running,
and Will didn't have the impression that they were crashing
through foliage. Ahmed was taking the easy escape route -
he had to, if he was carrying Latifa.

Will started to run up the path. The ground was soft and
yet strangely knobbly and treacherous, thanks to the granitelike
pebbles that were strewn all over the place. As Will ran,
he shone the torch to the left and right, keeping an eye
out for any areas where it looked as though Ahmed may
have veered away from the path; then he realised he was
making a target of himself, a target that no one could miss.
He switched off the torch and continued in the darkness.

He moved with caution, but the nature of the terrain was
such that Ahmed could have been hidden behind any of the
trees that lined his route. Something told him - intuition -
that he wasn't. It would have been the easiest thing in the
world for the bastard to wait in the room and nail Will when
he crashed through the door. But he hadn't. Will didn't know
why, but he gambled that if he wasn't prepared to stop and
shoot him then, he wouldn't be now. Still, he trod lightly. Every
now and then he would stop and hold his breath so that the
sound did not interfere with his hearing. Each time he did,
he heard the steps up ahead. Was it his imagination or were
they getting closer? Was he gaining on him? Will gripped his
weapon a little harder and continued pushing uphill.

Suddenly he stopped.

It caught him in the eye first, the little red light.
Momentarily it disappeared, but then he looked down and
saw it on his chest. He knew what it meant, of course -
that someone had their laser sight firmly fixed on him. And
it was perfectly obvious who that someone was.

'You have ten seconds,' a voice called from somewhere in
the darkness beyond, 'to discharge your weapon into the
ground and throw it into the trees. Any longer and I'll shoot.'

Will hesitated. For a moment he considered a random
burst of fire from the UMP, but he dismissed the notion
almost as soon as it came into his head. Ahmed had already
nailed Drew and Kennedy; the fact that Will was alive was
a miracle.

As if in response to that thought, the voice spoke again.
'My sister asked me not to kill you,' it stated, flatly. 'That's
the only reason you're still alive. But you will be dead in
three seconds' time if you do not do as I say.'

Will scowled, but he knew there was no option. He
lowered his weapon and discharged it fully into the ground.
Then he hurled it to one side into the woods.

'Put your hands behind your back,' the voice called.

Will did as he was told.

'If I see your hands or you make any sudden move, then
I shoot. Do you understand?'

Will stared straight ahead, but then became aware of the
little red dot moving up to his face. 'Do you understand?'

'I understand,' he said, flatly.

There was a pause. Everything around seemed still and
Will began to wonder if Ahmed had silently continued his
escape. Maybe he should give chase.

But then, slowly, a figure emerged out of the darkness.

Faisal Ahmed looked different from the picture Will had
seen in Lowther Pankhurst's office. Even in the midnight
gloom the dark rings under his eyes were visible and his
beard was less well groomed. But it was unmistakably him
and Will couldn't help but stare and scowl.

When Ahmed was only a few metres away, he stopped;
but he kept his gun trained on Will. 'My sister tells me you
saved her life,' Ahmed said, softly. His voice was almost gentle
and, unlike Latifa, he had no hint of an accent. 'For that, I
thank you.'

Will's eyes narrowed. 'You just killed two of my men,'
he retorted. 'Forgive me if I don't come over and shake
your hand.'

'I would not recommend doing anything with your hands,'
Ahmed reminded him. 'I meant what I said. As for your
men, they were, presumably, instructed to shoot me on sight?'

Will felt his cheek twitch momentarily.

'I thought so,' Ahmed said, almost pensively. 'They were
soldiers too. I am sorry for their deaths, but if it wasn't them
it would have been me. I'm sure they would understand.'

'I wouldn't bet on it, Ahmed,' Will said with distaste.
'They weren't the ones planning to kill thousands of people.'

'I beg your pardon?'

'Don't try and play dumb with me, Ahmed. We know
the score. We
are
going to stop you.'

Ahmed raised his gun slightly. 'Stop me doing what?' he
demanded. 'Tell me immediately or I shoot.'

'A terrorist hit. On the capital.'

For a moment, Ahmed's face remained emotionless; then
he smiled. But it wasn't a smile of pleasure, it was a smile
of understanding, as if something that had previously been
unclear to him had suddenly been revealed.

'I see,' he replied quietly. 'So
that
is what they have been
telling you.'

'Yeah,' Will spat. 'And it's not the only thing either.'

'That is not a surprise,' Ahmed replied, before pausing.
'My sister tells me you are a man to be trusted. Is this true,
Will Jackson?
Are
you a man to be trusted?'

'That depends who you are,' Will replied, flatly.

Ahmed nodded his head and seemed to be considering
something. Finally he spoke. 'It isn't true, of course,' he said.
'What they have told you. But you are an intelligent man.
No doubt you suspected that already.'

'Not really,' Will told him. 'The intel seems pretty clear.'

Ahmed smiled again. 'Intelligence,' he almost purred. 'It
is an interesting thing. It is amazing how often people can
be made to believe a lie in the name of intelligence. Take
my sister, for example. The whole of this country now
believes she is a wicked Afghan terrorist, but you and I
know that is not the truth. What you have been told about
me is not the truth, either.'

'Enlighten me,' Will said, unable to stop himself sounding
dismissive.

'I will,' Ahmed replied, oblivious to the contempt in Will's
voice or at least hardened to it. 'You have risked your life
to save my sister, it seems. You at least deserve to know why.
My guess is that you have been manipulated just as I have.
Sometimes we think we are knights when in fact we are
merely pawns. I would guess that you are familiar with
some of my history already - that I was trained by the
Americans to be a mole for them within the network of
al-Qaeda in Afghanistan. That I was discovered and made
my way back to England.'

Will continued to look balefully at him.

Ahmed inclined his head. 'My American handlers
instructed me to start working for MI5, infiltrating terrorist
groups in the UK and alerting the authorities to potential
strikes. I was, I should tell you, extremely successful.'

'You're not telling me anything I don't know already,
Ahmed.'

'Not yet, perhaps. What I think you are unlikely to know
is that my orders changed.'

'What are you talking about?'

'I was instructed by the CIA to go dark.' His face became
pinched. 'They had a new policy, they told me. One that
they hoped would save lives.'

Ahmed paused. Will had the impression that the Afghan
was scanning his face for signs of doubt.

'My new instructions were these. To instigate a series of
low-level terrorist strikes across the UK. No catastrophes,
no deaths. I was to do it through my network of al-Qaeda
sympathisers. The Americans believed that if the British saw
that the terrorist threat on their streets was real, it would
keep them on-message - more likely to do the Americans'
bidding whenever they came asking for help.'

Will blinked. 'You're trying to tell me that your terrorist
campaign was started by the CIA?'

'Of course,' Ahmed replied.

'That's ridiculous. I don't believe you.'

Ahmed shrugged. 'I cannot control what you believe,' he
said. 'Nevertheless, it is the truth. The man who sent you
to kill me, his name is Donald Priestley, is it not?'

Priestley. The image of the friendly, almost avuncular
American CIA official flitted through Will's head. 'How did
you know that?'

Ahmed nodded. 'It was Donald Priestley that I reported
to. It was all Donald Priestley's idea. He called what we were
doing Operation Firefight.' He sneered. 'Because we had to
fight fire with fire. A favourite saying of his.'

Will remained silent.

'Of course, MI5's intelligence network is impressive. We
always knew that they would realise I was involved in these
strikes, but Priestley had the confidence of somebody high
up in the British intelligence services. Every time MI5 came
close to discovering my location, I was tipped off by the
CIA. I did the Americans' bidding for three years and they
were, I think, pleased with my success rate. Casualties were
low, but the profile of my attacks was high.'

Casualties were low
. The very words felt like darts being
hurled into Will's body.
Not low enough, you bastard
, he felt
like saying. 'If they were so pleased with you,' he managed
to ask, 'why the hell would they want me to put a bullet
in your head?'

'Operation Firefight was successful,' Ahmed said. 'Maybe
too successful. The British became anxious. They became
the Americans' poodles and that suited the US very well.
Priestley wanted me to take things further. Up a level. He
wanted deaths in the UK. Collateral damage, he called it. A
loss of life here to save greater loss of life elsewhere. But
these would be innocent civilian lives. I refused to do his
bidding. The very next day my cover was blown by the CIA.
The terrorist cells I was working with found out the truth
about me. I had to run. Hide.'