Sharp Shot

John Chance raised his powerful binoculars and focused on the low
building on the other side of the sand dune. It was an Iraqi nuclear lab,
and according to British Intelligence, it was close to producing a viable
bomb. According to Saddam Hussein, on the other hand, Iraq had no nuclear
weapons programme
—and this secret lab in the desert simply didn't exist.

It was John
Chance's job to make sure that by the end of the day, it really didn't.

“You think they've got nukes in there?” asked Dex
Halford. He was Chance's number two on this mission, a wiry but powerful
man with dark hair. At
that moment his hair was covered by a brown
headscarf. Like the long cloak he wore over his uniform, it was designed
to blend in with the sand of the desert, and to give the impression at a
distance that he was a local tribesman.

“Too soon,” said Chance. “The assessment from MI6
says they've only just got the place up and running. They may have some
raw material, but it's unlikely they'll have anything weapons-grade
yet.”

“Not impossible, though. Six have been wrong before,”
said Ferdy McCain. He was the shortest of the team, stocky and heavy set.
A thin, dark moustache made him look more like an Italian gangster than an
elite British Special Forces operative.

“There was a rumour they got stuff out of the Al-Maan facility
before Mossad, the Israeli counter terrorism unit, paid it a
visit,” said Halford. “If they did, they'll have brought it
here.”

Any further discussion was interrupted by the fourth member of the
team. “We've got company,” called Mark Darrow from the other
side of the shallow dip where they were hiding.

Chance signalled for McCain and Halford to stay where they were, and
crawled over to have a look.
Darrow was on the other side of the Jeep—a camouflage net had been
spread over the vehicle and staked with tent pegs to keep it in place. The
back of the Jeep was stacked with equipment, including several boxes of
high explosives.

“What is it?” asked Chance, lying flat beside Darrow so
that only his scarf-wrapped head poked above the rise of the dune.

Darrow pointed into the distance, and Chance raised his binoculars. A
long way off, but heading towards them, he could see a line of camels. The
image shimmered in the heat, but even at this distance Chance could see
the Bedouin tribes people walking alongside. He smiled grimly as he saw
that one of the camels had a baby camel strapped to its back—so the
infant wouldn't slow them down.

“They might go right past,” said Darrow. “But
evening will be drawing in soon, and they'll want to set up camp before it
gets cold. They must know the plant is there, I reckon they'll use the
buildings for shelter from the night wind. They'll know the weather's due
to break any time.”

“And if they do pitch camp close to the nuclear
facility…”

“It'll keep some of the Republican Guards busy watching them,
and maybe they'll take the blame,” Darrow finished for him.
“Good diversion.”

But that wasn't what Chance had in mind. “If they camp too
close, they'll be caught in the blast. That place will go with one hell of
a bang.”

“We'll make sure of it.” Darrow grinned. “And if
they find a few Bedouin bodies in the wreckage, all the better.”

Chance looked at him coldly. “We've got an hour before we need
to get ready. You stay here with Halford.” He turned and called
across to the other two men. “Dex, stay here with Darrow. Ferdy—
you're with me.”

“Where are we going?” asked Ferdy McCain as he hurried
over to join Chance.

“We're going to warn those Bedouin that they need to camp
somewhere else.”

“You're crazy,” Darrow told him. “They don't owe
us anything—what if they chop you down where you stand?”

Chance fixed him with a piercing stare. “We're surgeons not
butchers,” he said quietly. “We're here to save lives, not to
take them. Yes, there will be some
casualties, but no more than necessary.
Our target is that nuclear facility and whatever they have there. Not the
guards, though we'll take them out if we have to. Not the scientists, who
are probably working under duress anyway, but again, we'll take them out
if we must. But there is no excuse—
no
excuse—for
putting innocent lives in danger unless we absolutely have to. Got
that?”

Darrow turned away.

Chance grabbed his shoulder and turned him back. “You got
that?” he repeated.

“I got that,” Darrow told him, eyes hard and expression
set. “And I have to tell you,
sir
, if that's your
attitude, you'll never get far in this job.”

“If that's
your
attitude,” Chance
replied calmly, “then you're in the
wrong
job.” He turned to McCain. “You fit?”

“Ready when you are, boss.”

“Then let's save some lives.” Chance glanced at Darrow
before adding: “Because ultimately,
that's
our
job.”

The temperature fell sharply at night, but John Chance didn't feel the
cold. His entire focus was on the job in
hand. Halford and Darrow had set
up a mass of squibs and explosives on the far side of the Iraqi
installation. The explosives would go off like grenades, while the squibs
simulated gunfire.

“All set?” asked Chance, as Halford returned.

They had left their cloaks in the Jeep, though they still wore their
headscarves. The wind was getting up and sand whipped at their faces. The
promised sandstorm wouldn't be long in coming.

Halford was nodding. “Going to be a hell of a fireworks
show.”

“Just so long as it draws out the Republican Guards so we can
get inside and mine the building.”

“And the scientists and civilian workers?”

“Tell them to run for it. Brought your phrasebook?”

Halford brandished his assault rifle. “I think I can
communicate with them. They'll know to run. You get on all right with
those Bedouin, by the way?”

Chance grinned. “I managed to get the message across. They've
moved on, so I think they understood.”

“They might have said thank you,” Halford told him.

“They did. The head man's a guy called Kassim. He gave me a
baby camel.”

“You what?!” Halford looked round, as if expecting to
see a small camel join them on the mission.

Chance grinned. “It's all right. I asked him to look after it
for me till I can come back and collect it.”

After another hour, the wind had picked up and the sand was swirling.
Chance decided it was time to make their move. If they waited any longer
the sandstorm would be too intense for them to get away.

On Chance's signal, Halford set off the diversionary explosions and
squibs. The desert erupted with sound and fury. Flashes illuminated frozen
images of the swirling sand like photographs. Gunfire seemed to rip
through the northern side of the installation.

Immediately there was answering fire from the Iraqi guards. An
armoured car positioned outside the main gates lurched into life and
rumbled round to the back of the perimeter wall to engage the apparent
attack.

With the main gates now only guarded by a few nervous soldiers, the
SAS team made their move. Silent and swift, shadows in the night, they
took down the guards. Chance knocked out two of the soldiers. Halford
slammed another into the wall of the guardhouse, where he collapsed
unconscious. McCain
dealt swiftly with a guard who'd managed to draw his
gun, but had no time to fire before McCain's knife sliced into his leg.
Moments later the guard was gagged and bound, his leg strapped up and
bandaged to staunch the bleeding.

Only Darrow had to kill. His automatic rifle, fitted with a silencer,
took out three guards on duty on the high perimeter wall. Two dropped
where they were standing. The third pitched forwards, falling without
making a sound to crunch on the ground at Darrow's feet. He smiled with
cold satisfaction.

Chance's whispered instructions were loud and clear in the earphones
of his team. “We have access. Time to go to your positions. Ferdy,
maintain surveillance and let us know if the guards realise they've been
conned. Dex, you take the guardhouse and the watch towers. Mark, you've
got the offices and admin complex as we agreed. I'll deal with the main
lab. Set the charges to blow in twenty minutes from my mark, and make sure
you're back at the Jeep by then. OK?”

After each of his men had checked in, Chance told them: “Right
then. Ten minutes from…Now. Go go go!”

They moved swiftly and silently through the complex. Like so much of
Saddam's weapons programme, the design for the plant was stolen. Chance
had studied the plans of the Russian installation it was based on. He knew
exactly where the main lab would be, and the quickest, safest route to get
there.

He didn't see anyone on his journey through the dimly lit corridors
until he was almost at his destination. Then he pressed himself into an
alcove to allow a white-coated scientist to pass. The man was carrying
something—Chance got only a glimpse, but it was obviously heavy and it
seemed to be made of stone. A statue, maybe, about half a metre tall…The
scientist looked worried and anxious as he hurried past.

As soon as the corridor was clear, Chance ran quickly to the security
door at the end. There was a numbered keypad beside the heavy, lead-lined
door. Chance didn't waste time trying to work out the code. The door might
be strong and the lock might be unbreakable. But the hinges were a weak
point.

Chance took what looked like an oversized tube of toothpaste from his
backpack. He squeezed thick grey paste from it, like bathroom sealant,
down the edge of
the door and over the hinges. Finally, he stuck a small
metal pin into the grey paste. The end of the pin glowed red.

Hurrying back to the alcove, Chance pulled out a small plastic box
with a switch on it. He turned away, and pressed the switch.

The sound of the explosion echoed down the corridor, followed
immediately by a cloud of smoke. As the sound and smoke cleared, the
high-pitched wail of an alarm kicked in.

The door was lying sideways on the ground. Chance jumped over it as
he ran into the main laboratory. Several technicians and scientists were
cowering in a corner in fright. Chance spared them a brief glance.

“Are you paying attention?” he shouted in the local
dialect above the sound of the alarm.

“Yes,” one of the scientists replied in a quivering
voice.

“Good. Make sure you take the guard trussed up in the gatehouse
with you, he'll have trouble walking on his own. And then you've got ten
minutes to get the hell out of here before the whole place goes
up.” Chance was kneeling on the ground, backpack on the
floor in
front of him, pulling objects from it. He held one up—you didn't need to
be an expert to guess that the stubby brown cylinder was an explosive.