Spider Shepherd 11 - White Lies (42 page)

‘I’m going to cut you down, Raj,’ he warned, then used the machete to hack through the rope close to the hook. He held on to the rope with his left hand and managed to slow Raj’s fall, then hurried over to him. ‘Are you OK?’

He felt his way up Raj’s body, then rolled him over and ran his hands down to his wrists. He pulled at the ropes binding them.

‘I’m OK,’ gasped Raj.

‘What about your leg?’

‘It hurts.’

‘I need you to stay here,’ said Shepherd as he worked at the knot.

‘Dan, no, don’t leave me!’

Shepherd could hear the terror in his voice. ‘You’ll be safe here,’ he said. He pulled the rope away from Raj’s wrists and helped him to sit up.

‘I want to stay with you,’ said Raj.

Shepherd heard more gunfire upstairs. An AK-47. Then a suppressed Heckler. Then an FN SCAR. Then silence. Then running feet. He felt Raj’s fingers grab his arm. ‘I’m so scared,’ said Raj, his mouth inches from Shepherd’s ear.

‘It’s OK, we’re being rescued.’

‘How do you know?’

‘The guns. It’s Navy SEALs out there.’

‘How can you tell?’

‘I just can,’ said Shepherd. ‘OK, stay close behind me.’ He swung the Kalashnikov around, felt for the safety and made sure it was off, then ran his fingers along to the selector switch and put it in the lower position, putting the weapon in semi-automatic mode, allowing him to fire single shots. He didn’t know how many rounds were in the magazine but no matter how many he wasn’t going to waste them with fully automatic fire. ‘Keep one hand on my back,’ said Shepherd. ‘Stay close but don’t grab, OK. Just maintain contact.’

‘OK,’ said Raj.

Shepherd ran his hand down the rough wood of the door and found the handle. He opened it and started up the stairs, with Raj close behind him.

Button’s heart was pounding as she stared at the screen. White figures were moving around the building. Two had appeared at the rear and had gone inside, their shapes merging into the grey of the building. She had seen a figure appear from a side door and move towards Al-Haznawi’s SUV, then the figure had fallen. Having no sound made it seem all the more surreal.

Seconds later, six figures had moved towards the front of the house, moving independently before forming a line against the wall. They had stayed there for a few seconds then the figure at the front had motioned with his hand and one by one they moved inside.

‘They’re in,’ said Yokely in Button’s headset. ‘It’ll soon be over.’

Button swallowed. Her mouth had gone dry and she reached for a bottle of Evian water, unscrewed the top and drank from it, her eyes never leaving the screen.

Shepherd reached the top of the stairs. He heard running feet and a light bounced along the wall by his head. He looked to his left. There was a figure there with a flashlight. He couldn’t make out the features of the man but he figured the SEALs wouldn’t be using flashlights. He fired and the flashlight wobbled and he fired again and the light fell. There was a dull thud and the clatter of a weapon hitting the ground. Shepherd ran forward and picked up the torch. He played the beam over the floor and exhaled only when he saw the Taliban fighter sprawled on the ground, bleeding from the chest and throat. The dead man had a grey and white checked scarf around his neck and Shepherd pulled it from him and handed it to Raj. ‘Use that to bandage your leg,’ he said.

As Raj tended to his wound, Shepherd bent down and pulled the magazine from the dead fighter’s Kalashnikov. He heard footsteps to his left and swung up the torch. The beam highlighted another robed fighter, his mouth open in surprise, an AK-47 across his chest. Shepherd fired one-handed, catching the man in the dead centre of the chest with a single shot. The man fell to the floor.

Shepherd shone the torch around, trying to get his bearings. As he turned, two men in desert camouflage fatigues with bulbous night vision goggles below their Kevlar helmets came around a corner. Shepherd dropped the Kalashnikov and shone the torch at his own face. ‘Friendly, friendly!’ he shouted, then held up his hands.

‘Shepherd?’ shouted one of the men.

Shepherd felt a surge of relief wash over him. ‘Yes!’ he shouted. He gestured at Raj. ‘He’s a Brit too.’

The two SEALs moved along the corridor, their weapons still aimed at Shepherd’s chest. ‘Are you injured?’ asked one.

‘I’m OK. Raj has got a cut leg.’

‘Where were you?’ asked the SEAL.

Shepherd pointed at the stairs. ‘Basement,’ he said. ‘There’s three dead hostiles down there.’

‘Nice,’ said the SEAL, nodding his approval.

‘Sierra Five, we have Shepherd and Manraj here, both hale and hearty,’ said the SEAL, presumably into his comms. Shepherd couldn’t hear what was being said in reply, but the SEAL nodded. ‘Sierra Five, roger that.’ The SEAL nodded at Shepherd. ‘We’re to take you out the back way,’ he said. ‘I’m Sal Garcia.’ He gestured at his companion. ‘The quiet one is Julio Morales. Stay close. And kill that flashlight.’

Shepherd switched off the torch. From the front of the house they heard a Kalashnikov being fired followed by suppressed Heckler fire and then silence. Shepherd picked up the Kalashnikov, took Raj by the arm, and followed Garcia and Morales down the corridor.

They reached the end and turned left, then stepped through a wooden door and found themselves outside, under the stars.

‘Sierra Five, we’re outside,’ said Garcia.

‘Did you hear that, Charlotte?’ said Yokely. Button was staring at the screen, leaning forward so that her face was only inches from the four white figures that had emerged from the rear of the house. They all looked the same, though only three appeared to be carrying weapons.

‘I see it, Richard,’ said Button.

‘Home stretch now,’ he said. ‘They’re OK.’

‘That’s brilliant, Richard. Absolutely brilliant.’ She looked over at Singh. He was beaming and he punched the air with a clenched fist.

There was a staircase to the left and Drake pointed at it, then at Peterson and Sanders. They nodded and headed up the stairs, keeping close to the wall. A door opened and a fighter appeared with a flashlight. Drake shot him in the face, twice, and the man fell back and the flashlight fell to the ground and winked out.

Drake moved down the corridor, keeping low. Croft was behind him to the left, and Woody to the right. Henderson had stayed by the main door just in case more fighters came from outside. There was a door to the left and Drake opened it, then pushed it wide and stepped to the side, covering the left of the room, Croft covered the right, then stepped into the room in a crouch.

Drake saw two figures standing against the wall and he began to squeeze his trigger, but he realised they were standing with their hands in the air. ‘On your knees!’ he barked. ‘On your knees, now!’

The two men obeyed and Drake moved closer. Croft had his weapon trained on the man on the right and Woody kept his carbine aimed at the one on the left. The man on the right was Akram Al-Farouq. Drake gestured at him with his weapon. ‘That’s Al-Farouq, cuff him,’ he said to Croft. Croft pulled a set of plastic ties from his harness. Drake stepped forward and brought the butt of his carbine down on the other man’s head and he dropped face forward on to the floor without a sound.

Croft finished binding Al-Farouq’s wrists and hauled him to his feet.

‘Right,’ said Drake. ‘Time to get the hell out of Dodge.’

Garcia put a hand on Shepherd’s shoulder. ‘We’re going to RV at the front of the building,’ he said. ‘The area seems secure now but stick close to the wall.’

Shepherd nodded.

‘I’ll go first, then you, then Raj. Julio will bring up the rear.’

‘All good,’ said Shepherd. He took a quick look at Raj. His eyes were closed and Shepherd shook him gently. ‘I’m OK,’ he said, but Shepherd could hear the uncertainty in his voice. The scarf that he’d tied around his injured leg glistened blackly with blood. ‘Not long now, Raj,’ said Shepherd. ‘Stick with me.’ Raj nodded.

Garcia took a quick look around, then started moving, crouched over his carbine. Shepherd followed, his finger outside the trigger guard of the Kalashnikov. They moved in a crouch. Small stones pressed into the soles of Shepherd’s bare feet but he was barely aware of the discomfort. Adrenalin was coursing through his bloodstream and his body’s endorphins were acting as natural painkillers, taking the edge off the damage that Al-Farouq had done to his shins in the basement.

A round thwacked into the wall above Shepherd’s head and flecks of brick pricked his skin. There was a loud pop off to his right, coming from a window of the nearest house. Two more rounds hit the wall, slightly lower, but Shepherd had already ducked and turned and they missed him by more than a foot. Raj screamed and fell to the ground but Shepherd ignored him and stayed totally focused on the window.

‘Where did that come from?’ asked Garcia.

‘Top right window,’ said Shepherd. As he spoke a figure appeared and he let loose two quick shots that thwacked into the brickwork above the window. There was just enough moonlight for him to see that he’d missed.

‘Julio,’ shouted Garcia.

‘I’m on it,’ said Morales. He sighted his M320 and let loose a 40mm grenade that flew off with a whoosh and headed straight for the window, a plume of grey smoke behind it. The grenade went through dead centre and a second later the room exploded in a ball of flame.

Shepherd bent down and helped Raj to his feet. Raj was shaking uncontrollably. He was in shock, but Shepherd knew there was nothing he could do just then. He squeezed Raj’s arm. ‘Keep it together, Raj. We’re going to get out of this, I swear.’

They started moving again, reached the corner of the building and turned left. There was another SEAL there, standing guard at the door. He turned to look at them and raised a hand.

There was a burst of suppressed fire from inside the house and the SEAL standing guard whirled around and peered through the doorway. Garcia jogged over to join him.

Raj leaned against the wall and bent down. He was panting like a sick dog. Shepherd put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Slow breaths,’ he said. ‘You’re hyperventilating. It’s the adrenalin. Just breathe slow and easy. We’re almost home.’

Raj nodded. ‘I can’t get any air,’ he panted. ‘It’s like my chest is too tight.’

‘I understand. Just slow it down, and take long, deep breaths.’

Raj nodded again and tried to do as he’d been told.

Two SEALs came out of the main door, manhandling a bearded man in a dishdasha. It was Al-Farouq, Shepherd realised. His hands were tied behind his back and he kept his head down.

Three more SEALs emerged. Garcia spoke to them and all four headed over to Shepherd. One of the SEALs lifted up his night vision goggles to reveal his face. Shepherd recognised him immediately. Adam Croft. ‘Bloody hell, you’re a sight for sore eyes,’ said Shepherd. ‘Long time no see.’

‘The powers that be thought it might be helpful if you saw a friendly face,’ said Croft. He gestured at Henderson. ‘Remember Guy?’

Henderson removed his night vision goggles.

‘Sure,’ said Shepherd. He bumped fists with Henderson. ‘What happens now?’ he asked Croft.

‘We’ve got quads to get us to the border,’ said Croft. ‘Then we’ll be airlifted back to Basra.’

Shepherd sighed. ‘It can’t be soon enough,’ he said.

Croft nodded at the man to his left. ‘This is Lieutenant Jake Drake, he’s in charge.’ The lieutenant was an inch or two shorter than Shepherd with a bodybuilder’s shoulders.

‘Thanks for this, Lieutenant,’ said Shepherd.

‘Always happy to lend our British cousins a helping hand,’ said Drake.

‘Or drag their nuts out of the fire,’ said Croft. He grinned. ‘Seeing as how you are no longer in the SAS, Dan, we’re treating you as a Civilian Under Naval Training. Message received?’

Shepherd laughed, figuring the SEALs had earned the right to take the piss. ‘Adam, mate, call me what the hell you want, I’m just glad you’re here.’

Drake patted him on the back. ‘Let’s move,’ he said. ‘Keep the Kalashnikov, just remember that anyone in desert fatigues is a friendly.’

Croft removed a pair of night vision goggles from a pouch on his harness and helped Shepherd put them on.

Henderson had a pair for Raj. ‘Thank you,’ gasped Raj.

‘Thank us when we’re out of here,’ said Henderson. He looked over at Drake and nodded.

‘Right. Back to the quads,’ said Drake. ‘Julio, Sal, Monster, you take the rear and cover us if we need it. Let’s go!’

Henderson kept a hold of Raj’s arm as they jogged away from the house, and Croft stayed close to Shepherd. Drake was on the left and Woody and Peterson were on the right.

They had gone about fifty feet when a Kalashnikov went off behind them but Morales let loose a short burst with his suppressed Heckler and the Kalashnikov fell silent.

They jogged across the track and over to the clump of rocks and the quads. Croft showed Shepherd to the rear-facing seat on his quad and Henderson did the same with Raj. There was a footrest that kept his feet away from the rear wheels and a small backrest. It wasn’t the most comfortable of rides but it would do the job. One by one the engines burst into life, then they sped across the desert, heading west. Shepherd kept his Kalashnikov at the ready as they drove away from the buildings, but there was no activity. He began to relax, finally able to believe that he was safe.

Button stared at the screen. She’d watched as the white figures had left the house and moved out of view. She’d counted eleven figures. Eight SEALs and presumably Shepherd, Raj and Al-Farouq.

‘Charlotte, are you online?’ asked Yokely in her ear.

‘I’m here, Richard.’

‘No casualties on our side, I’m happy to say,’ said Yokely. ‘And we have Al-Farouq in the bag.’

‘That’s brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.’

‘There’s a Chinook on the way. We’ll pick them up on the Pakistan side of the border and process them at Basra before putting them on planes back to London.’

‘I owe you, Richard.’

‘No, getting Al-Farouq in the bag makes us even,’ said Yokely. ‘We’re all square. I don’t know how you got the location, Charlotte, and I’m guessing I don’t want to know, but you saved the day back there.’