Firefight (30 page)

Priestley's brow furrowed. He looked momentarily
surprised, then shrugged his shoulders and opened the door.

Instinctively, Will's hand reached for his gun. In the next
five seconds, he knew, he would either hear the sound of
gunshot or Ahmed would have been momentarily wrongfooted
by the incorrect person entering the room.

He stepped towards the door. No gunshot, just a sound
of shuffling. He held his gun out and entered.

Ahmed had his back to him and was in the process of
throwing Priestley towards the centre of the room. He, too,
had his gun arm outstretched, towards the CIA man, and
he was just turning round to check his back.

He never got the chance.

When you hold a gun for long enough, it becomes part
of you, like an extra limb. That was how Will's handgun
felt now - an extension of his body, under his control, ready
to do his bidding, to respond to his split-second decision.
In that moment, as a deadly calm descended on him, it was
as though there were only three people in the whole world:
himself, Faisal Ahmed and Donald Priestley. Will Jackson
and his enemies, and everything was about to come full
circle.

All he had to do was pull the trigger now and it would
be over.

But killing Ahmed would not be enough. The Afghan
was not the only person responsible for his family's death.
There was someone else, too, and that person was in the
room with them.

Will stepped forward and put the barrel of his gun gently
against the back of Faisal Ahmed's head. He sensed Ahmed's
body twitch in surprise, but then the Afghan stayed perfectly
still.

'Any sudden move, Ahmed,' he whispered, 'and I swear
I'll kill you without a second's hesitation.'

A hush descended on the room. Ahmed kept his gun
trained on Priestley, who crawled backwards up against the
wall.

'Clever,' the Afghan said, softly. 'Very clever.' The mere
sound of his voice made Will tingle with hate.

Another silence. Ahmed, after an initial moment of
shock, had instantly regained his composure. He stood
like a statue, his gun still aimed at the American. Priestley
himself, previously paralysed by abject terror, seemed to
relax slightly at the sight of Will holding his gun to
Ahmed's head. His body became less tense and stooped.
He drew himself up to his full height, a flicker of contempt
playing on his lips, his eyes gleaming with a newfound
triumph.

'Well done, Will,' he whispered, his voice little more than
a hiss. Will noticed, though, that his eyes still flickered
towards Ahmed's gun. 'My man seems to have got the better
of you, Faisal,' he continued. 'Time to put the weapon down.
It's all over.'

'No,' Ahmed replied, quietly. 'I do not think so.' Will
detected a tone of resignation in his voice.

Priestley's face twitched and he nodded his head sharply
at Will. That nod was easily interpreted:
Do it
.

But Will did nothing. He just kept the gun to Ahmed's
head.

The Afghan spoke again. 'If you wanted me dead, Will
Jackson,' he said quietly, but clearly, 'you would have killed
me already.'

'Oh, I want you dead, Ahmed. You needn't make any
mistake about that.'

'And yet,' Ahmed replied,'here I am. You have been clever,
Will. Cleverer than I have given you credit for.' There was
something about the way Ahmed addressed him in so familiar
a fashion that made Will feel very uncomfortable. 'Could
it be that there is something you want me to do for you
first, Will? Something you cannot do yourself?'

'You've got the idea, Ahmed,' Will replied. 'So go ahead.
In your own time.'

'What the hell are you both talking about?' Priestley
demanded, his voice urgent. 'Jackson,
do it!
' He took a step
forward. '
Kill him!
'

'If you make another move,' Will hissed at him, 'I'll kill
you myself.'

Priestley stopped still and his eyes widened as a sudden
realisation hit him. 'What do you mean?' he whispered.

'I would have thought it was clear,' Ahmed replied. 'He
wants revenge. He is, after all, only human. But it is not
just me he blames for his family's death, Don. It is you, too,
and rightly so. Am I right, Will?'

'Get on with it, Ahmed.'

'You see, Don, he cannot shoot you with impunity, so
he is gambling that I will do it for him. He is gambling
that I want you dead so badly that I am willing to make
it the last thing I do before he takes his revenge on me.
That is correct, is it not, Will?'

'Got it in one, Ahmed,' Will growled.

Priestley's eyes flickered, terrified, from one man to the
other, and then towards the open door.

'You needn't worry,' Ahmed spoke, softly, 'that anyone is
coming to save you. The cameras have been disabled and a
loop of footage recorded earlier today is being transmitted
out of here. An old CIA trick, Don - I'm a little surprised
you didn't predict it.'

'This is madness—!' Priestley choked, but his outburst
was cut short. Because as he spoke, Ahmed fired - not into
his head, as Will had expected - but directly into his thigh.
Ahmed's suppressed weapon let out a faint whistling thud
and instantly the CIA man crumpled to the ground. Blood
oozed on to the floor, but he didn't scream. Instead, he
started shaking violently. Shock, Will told himself in a
detached fashion. He'd seen the symptoms enough times
to recognise them.

And then Ahmed spoke again. He still sounded calm
and in control - it was not the voice of a man whose life
was on the line. Will found himself wishing that he could
see his face rather than just the back of his head, wishing
that he could look into the man's eyes before he killed
him.

'It seems,' Ahmed intoned, 'that I have been outmanoeuvred.
My sister tried to warn me of this. She had
more faith in your abilities than I did.'

Will remained silent. For some reason the mention of
Latifa made him feel uneasy. Her devotion to her brother
was complete and he could only imagine the feelings of
hate she would harbour towards him when she found out
that he had killed Ahmed.

At the side of the room, Priestley continued to tremble,
little more than a frightened, wounded animal. The image
of Laura and Anna lying dead on the ground flashed through
Will's head.

'Your gamble has paid off,' Ahmed continued. 'I came here
to assassinate Donald Priestley and I will not leave until that
is done. If that means you're going to kill me, then so be
it. In many ways it will be a release. But there is something
I want you to do for me.'

Will blinked. 'You're not in a position to be asking me
for favours, Ahmed.'

'It is not for me,' he whispered. 'But for my sister.'

Will paused. His target seemed unnaturally still. Unnaturally
calm. It put Will even more on his guard. 'Go on.'

'When I am dead, there will be no one to look after her.
She knows about Operation Firefight. The Americans will
see her as a risk. They will try to eliminate her.'

For the first time, Will detected a sense of tension in
Ahmed. His breathing was shallow and measured, but it
trembled slightly.

'Operation Firefight has claimed enough victims, Will,'
the Afghan continued. 'Your family to start with and now me.
Latifa does not deserve to be next on that list. I do not
blame you for killing me - in your position I would do
the same. But if Latifa is right about you, then I think you
will understand and I think you will do the right thing by
her.'

Will found his hand trembling. He steadied it. 'Where is
she?'

'In hiding. In a safe house. I have a mobile telephone in
my pocket. You will find a number for her there. When you
see her, tell her—' Ahmed's voice suddenly cracked with
emotion, but he instantly conquered it. 'Tell her she was
right. And tell her I am sorry.'

From the floor, Priestley whimpered - the first sound he
had made since the bullet had entered his leg. His breathing
was heavy and he seemed to be sweating.

'And I am truly sorry for you, too, Will,' Ahmed continued.
'It is no consolation, I know, but I understand what it is to
lose your family. Your wife and daughter were not meant
to die. No one was meant to die. It has haunted me ever
since.'

Will gritted his teeth. 'Just do it, Ahmed,' he said.

Another whimper escaped Priestley's mouth, a sound of
such horror that for an instant Will felt a twinge of
sympathy.

And then the American spoke, the dreadful effort sounding
clearly in the tone of his voice. '
It was Ahmed who killed your
family, Will
,' he wheedled.'
Ahmed. Not me. You should kill him.
Kill him now, Will.
'

As Priestley spoke, all Will's sympathy was stripped away
as he revealed himself for the sickening coward that he was.

'Shut up, Priestley!' he burst out. 'Just shut the fuck up! It's
just a fucking game of soldiers to you, isn't it? Who cares
if people die? My daughter was six years old.
Six years old.
How do you live with that, Priestley? How do you fucking
live with that?'

Priestley's body was juddering now; his blood loss was
copious. 'Will,' he breathed. 'You're angry -'

'Damn right I'm angry,' Will retorted, all his fury suddenly
spilling out of him. 'I'm angry about Anderson, dead in
some shit hole in the Stan. I'm angry about Drew and
Kennedy, pushing up the fucking daisies thanks to this arsehole.
I don't suppose you stopped to think about them, did
you? A few dead soldiers don't mean much in the bigger
picture, do they?'

'Will, please. I—'

'Save it, Priestley. I don't want to hear your justifications.
I don't want to hear your excuses. Save it for the Pearly
fucking Gates.' He nudged Ahmed in the back of his head
with the gun. 'Do it,' he said.

Donald Priestley opened his mouth to save his life, but
the words never left him. Faisal Ahmed's aim was perfect.
The bullet entered Priestley's head directly between the
eyes, ripping a hole in his forehead and creating a small,
silent explosion of bone and soft brain matter. The CIA
man fell dead to the floor.

An unholy quiet descended upon the room.

Will felt his finger twitch on the trigger of his gun, the
weapon's barrel still pressed hard against Faisal Ahmed's skull.
The Afghan lowered his gun. 'If you are going to kill me,
Will, I would ask that you do it quickly.'

He took a deep breath. Now was the moment. The
moment when the demons that had plagued him for the
past two years could be laid, finally, to rest.

And yet, something was stopping him. Something was
stopping him from pulling that trigger. He didn't know
what it was - maybe he just didn't want to shoot a man
from behind.

'Throw the gun to the ground,' he said.

Ahmed did as he was told. The weapon landed only inches
from Priestley's body.

'Take two steps forward.'

Ahmed walked.

'Now put your hands on your head.'

Will watched as Ahmed slowly followed his instructions.

'Another three paces, then turn around.'

'It does not feel as I thought it would,' Ahmed said as
he turned around. The sight of his face made Will catch
his breath. His beard had been shaved off and he looked
much younger than he had when they first met several
nights ago. His eyes were piercing and clear and the only
thing that suggested he felt any fear about what was about
to happen was a thin trickle of sweat down the side of his
face.

'What doesn't?'Will asked.

Ahmed's eyes flickered down to the sight of Priestley's
body on the ground. 'Revenge,' he said simply. 'I thought
it would feel different to this. Better.' He turned his gaze
back to Will. 'You will find this out soon enough.' The
Afghan closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable.

He's manipulating you,
a voice spoke in Will's head.
Don't
listen to him. Do what you have to do.

But still something stopped him. A sudden doubt that
this was the right thing to do. Surely the real criminal had
been dealt with. The man who had been ultimately responsible
for his family's death lay dead at his feet. The general
had been killed; only the foot soldier remained. And as
Ahmed stood there, resolutely waiting for death, Will
couldn't help a creeping feeling of respect.

But respect wasn't enough to save Ahmed now.

'Open your eyes,' Will growled.

Ahmed's eyelids flickered open and he stared at Will, his
face impossible to read.

'How did you get in here?'

A faint smile flickered across Ahmed's face. 'You don't
really expect me to give away
all
my secrets, do you, Will?'

They stood there in silence, Ahmed's hands still firmly
on his head, Will's arm outstretched, the handgun pointing
straight at his enemy. He took a deep breath and prepared
to fire.

To end it all.

Now.

It happened so quickly. At lightning speed, Ahmed's right
arm delved into his coat and reappeared holding another
weapon.

A sudden surge of adrenaline rushed through Will's body.
He squeezed the trigger. But it was too late.

Ahmed's bullets were almost noiseless as they exploded
from the suppressed firearm, but they slammed into Will's
left shoulder with a thumping ferocity. He was knocked
back against the wall and, as if in slow motion, he saw a
hole explode in the wall where his own stray bullets made
contact; then he saw Ahmed repositioning his gun, aiming
it at his head.

Will Jackson knew he only had one chance to save his
life.

He fired three times in quick succession. The shots cracked
loudly.

The first bullet hit Ahmed in the chest, knocking him
back half a metre and ensuring that the Afghan's next shot
fell wide of its mark.

The second bullet found his throat. Ahmed dropped his
gun and moved his hands up to where the blood was
suddenly spurting from him like some grotesque fountain.