Spider Shepherd 11 - White Lies Page 18

  He was facing the doorway, and as he faded into unconsciousness he saw Captain Kassar, Sunny and Naveed running back towards the hill. A burst of fire from the upper level cut Naveed and the captain down. The last thing Shepherd saw was Sunny being brought down by a hail of AK-47 fire, then everything went black.

  The ringing mobile woke Charlotte Button from a dreamless sleep. She blinked her eyes and focused on the bedside clock. It was three o’clock in the morning, which meant it could only be bad news. She groped for her iPhone and squinted at the screen. The caller had withheld their number. She took the call. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’m sorry to call so late, but we have a problem.’ It was Jeremy Willoughby-Brown.

  ‘In what way?’ asked Button, sitting up, already wide awake.

  ‘The Pakistanis seem to have fucked up big-time,’ said Willoughby-Brown.

  ‘Specifically?’

  ‘It went bad, that’s all I know so far,’ said Willoughby-Brown. ‘It looks as if the bad guys knew what was going to happen.’

  ‘It was a trap?’

  ‘Maybe not a trap, but they were prepared. There’s a lot of dead bodies out there.’

  Button felt her stomach turn over. ‘Is Spider OK?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, I wish I did, but the Pakistanis have gone all tight lipped. They’re a bit embarrassed, obviously.’

  ‘That’s not good enough. Spider was in their care, if something has happened to him they have a duty to inform us.’

  ‘Taz is pressing them for information as we speak.’

  ‘I don’t understand why you’ve let a junior be the liaison on this operation,’ said Button.

  ‘He speaks the language, and not to put too fine a point on it, he’s the right colour,’ said Willoughby-Brown. ‘He’s doing a terrific job, under the circumstances.’

  ‘You’re obviously working under some strange new definition of “terrific” that I’ve never heard of,’ said Button. ‘He managed to lose Raj and now Spider is missing in action.’

  ‘That’s hardly Taz’s fault, though.’

  ‘Then whose fault is it?’ said Button. ‘You should have been out there.’

  ‘I’ve already explained why that wasn’t a good idea.’

  ‘It seems to me that you not being there was more of an arse-covering exercise,’ said Button. ‘If you’re not in the field, you can avoid any shit that goes flying if and when it hits the fan.’

  ‘Oh, come now, Charlotte, that’s not fair.’

  ‘Fair? Do you think it’s fair what’s happened to Spider? Damn you. Damn you to hell.’ She cut the connection, threw the phone and paced up and down, fuming. She caught sight of herself in the dressing-table mirror. Her face was red and there was a near-manic gleam in her eyes. She stared at her reflection and took several deep breaths. ‘Getting angry won’t solve anything, Charlie,’ she whispered. She picked up her phone and called Willoughby-Brown back.

  ‘Charlotte?’ he said, clearly bracing himself for another verbal assault.

  ‘I’d like to see you in my office at nine o’clock sharp for a full briefing,’ she said.

  ‘No problem,’ said Willoughby-Brown.

  ‘Thank you so much,’ said Button, before ending the call.

  Shepherd groaned and opened his eyes. Everything was black. He opened and closed his eyes, wondering whether he had gone blind. He waved his hand in front of his face but saw nothing. He was lying on his side, on a stone floor. He was naked, he realised. Totally naked. He rolled on to his front and pushed himself to his knees. He was sore all over, but there were no sharp pains to suggest that he had broken anything. He moved his head, left and right, opening his eyes as wide as they would go. There was a thin line of light to his left, about three feet long, running along the floor. He crawled towards it. There was a fainter line running up at an angle to the horizontal line. It was a door. He stood up and ran his hands over it. It was rough wood. There was no keyhole and he couldn’t feel any hinges.

  He walked to the left, keeping his fingertips on the wall. The surface didn’t feel like stone, it had a more man-made texture, like concrete or brick. There was less than three feet of wall before there was a corner. The second wall was just ten feet long. The wall opposite the door was nine feet long. Then another ten-foot wall. Then three feet to the door. His cell was nine feet wide and ten feet long. Ninety square feet. Slightly smaller than the average United Kingdom prison cell. But this was no cushy British prison cell with television, in-cell plumbing and a choice of nutritious meals. This was Pakistan and his captors were in all likelihood the Taliban or al-Qaeda. He reached up but couldn’t touch the ceiling. He jumped but it was still out of reach. So the cell was at least ten feet high.

  He knew there was no point in calling out. His captors knew where he was, they’d get to him when they were ready. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. And when they did get to him, it was pretty much guaranteed not to be a pleasant experience. He sat down with his back to the wall facing the door and drew his knees up to his chest. All he could do now was wait.

  Charlotte Button didn’t get up when Jeremy Willoughby-Brown was shown into her office. She was determined not to lose her temper with the MI6 man again, but that didn’t mean she was going to show him anything other than polite contempt. She waved him to a chair and he sat down before carefully adjusting the creases of his made-to-measure trousers, avoiding eye contact with her. ‘I really can’t tell you how sorry I am about all this, Charlotte,’ he said.

  Button bit back the sarcastic comment she wanted to make and waited for him to continue. When she didn’t say anything, he looked up and she saw the confusion in his eyes. He’d obviously expected her to bite his head off. ‘Taz has had a more in-depth briefing from the Pakistani military and I’m afraid it’s not good news,’ he said. He paused, expecting her to say something, but she just nodded for him to continue. He took a deep breath, like a police officer on the doorstep about to break the worst possible news. ‘Sixteen SSG men were killed including three of the officers on the operation, a colonel and two captains. Four were injured. Two of the injured were taken prisoner.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Shepherd was captured.’

  ‘Was he injured?’

  ‘Stunned by an explosion. An RPG, I gather. One of the snipers saw it happen. The warhead went off and …’ He shrugged.

  ‘An RPG?’ said Button, her hand flying up to her mouth involuntarily. ‘He was hit by an RPG?’

  ‘The sniper said it was behind him, and that he was some distance away. He had on an armoured vest and a Kevlar helmet, he’s probably OK.’

  ‘Probably? I want more than probably.’

  Willoughby-Brown put up his hands. ‘According to the sniper, Shepherd went down but a group of the bad guys pounced on him and dragged him away. He didn’t seem to be bleeding. Then the sniper left the area. He and the survivors made it back to the helicopters. They’re back in Cherat now.’

  Button rubbed the bridge of her nose. She could feel a headache coming on. ‘What the hell happened?’ she asked quietly.

  ‘They were getting ready to go in as planned, through the doors, front and back. The bad guys seemed to have been ready and they tossed out grenades. There were armed men on the upper floor who started shooting. There were a lot of casualties but Shepherd and the colonel went ahead and blew a set of doors and went charging in. It was all very Butch and Sundance, apparently.’ He averted his eyes as Button glared at him.

  ‘So they knew they were coming.’

  ‘Possibly. Or they could have just been well prepared.’

  ‘That wasn’t a question, Jeremy. They had to have known. Grenades. RPGs. They were ready for a war.’

  ‘It’s the Taliban, Charlotte. They have weapons on tap.’

  ‘The Pakistanis must have done a recce, surely.’

  ‘One would assume so, yes.’

  ‘So they would presumably have known if the RPGs were on site.’

  Willo
ughby-Brown sighed. ‘I wasn’t there, Charlotte. I’m getting my details second-hand.’

  ‘As am I,’ said Button. ‘You know when the Americans took out Bin Laden, they didn’t have a single casualty? And that’s despite crashing one of their helicopters. They stormed the compound in Abbottabad and didn’t take a single shot.’

  ‘That was the middle of the night.’

  ‘So the Pakistanis go in a few hours later than that and they find themselves in a full-on firefight. This wasn’t a few goat herders with guns, Jeremy. This was a battle and a highly trained Pakistani special forces assault group came off worst. How could have that happened?’

  Willoughby-Brown shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘I’m not sure what you want me to say, Charlotte,’ he said. ‘It was a Pakistani operation. I’m not privy to the ins and outs.’

  She looked at him coldly. ‘Were you privy to Akram Al-Farouq, by any chance?’ she said quietly.

  Willoughby-Brown frowned. ‘What?’

  ‘You know who Akram Al-Farouq is?’

  ‘I wasn’t born yesterday. Of course I do.’

  ‘And you didn’t know he was there, with Raj?’

  Willoughby-Brown’s frown deepened. ‘I did not. And if you don’t mind me asking, how do you know?’

  ‘I got it from the horse’s mouth.’

  ‘The ISI is sharing intel with Five?’

  ‘Shepherd called me. He had been briefed that Akram Al-Farouq was there. The impression Shepherd had was that Al-Farouq had become the focus of the mission and that Raj was secondary.’

  Willoughby-Brown frowned. ‘This is the first I’ve heard of this, Charlotte. Trust me.’

  Button was tempted to tell Willoughby-Brown that she trusted him about as far as she could throw him but she just smiled. ‘I’m assuming the Pakistanis have been playing their cards close to their chest,’ she said.

  ‘It would explain how they were so quick to locate Raj once he had been moved from the training camp,’ said Willoughby-Brown. ‘If they had Al-Farouq under surveillance, and if he went to interrogate Raj …’ He left the thought unfinished.

  ‘How good are Taz’s contacts within ISI?’ asked Button.

  ‘Quite good,’ said Willoughby-Brown. ‘Officially and unofficially. He’s had several high-level briefings and I think he has at least one unofficial contact.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘He talked about meeting a contact socially. He plays squash at quite a high level and he plays with an ISI guy. Why are you asking?’

  ‘I need to see any intel they have on Al-Farouq.’

  ‘I assume there will be mountains of it,’ said Willoughby-Brown.

  ‘The latest intel, obviously. How they located him, how they knew he was interrogating Raj, where they think he might be now.’

  ‘I think if they knew where he was now they’d probably be going in with guns blazing.’

  Button flashed him a tight smile. ‘I’d like that intel today,’ she said.

  ‘They’re five hours ahead of us.’

  ‘Then the sooner you get on to Taz, the better,’ said Button. ‘I also want to know why they didn’t know what they were going to be up against. If they had surveillance, they should have known about the RPGs.’

  Willoughby-Brown stood up. ‘I’ll get back to you as soon as I have it,’ he said.

  Button waved for him to sit down. ‘There’s something else,’ she said. ‘I need intel on anyone else who was being trained with Raj.’

  ‘I’m not sure I can share that with you,’ said Willoughby-Brown.

  Button raised an eyebrow. ‘I’d be very careful about playing secret squirrel with me, Jeremy. I’m really not in the mood.’

  ‘I’ll have to clear it first.’

  ‘Then clear it. Or if you’d prefer I could go through the Joint Intelligence Committee?’

  Willoughby-Brown swallowed nervously. ‘There’s no need for that, Charlotte.’

  ‘It might speed things up,’ said Button. ‘Of course, it would raise questions about the way this has been handled thus far. In particular why Five wasn’t informed of the ongoing investigation. Home-grown terrorists would seem to fall more within Five’s remit than yours.’ She smiled sweetly but her eyes were as hard as ice.

  ‘I already explained, we were looking at overseas terrorist funding.’

  ‘Yes, you did. But once your investigation focused on British soil, you really should have started sharing your intel with us.’

  ‘That’s a grey area, Charlotte.’

  She shook her head. ‘No, it’s not in the least bit grey. You were running a British agent on British soil, and you can talk about overseas terrorist funding until the cows come home but what you did was outside your remit and you know it was.’ He opened his mouth to speak but she raised a hand to silence him. ‘Look, Jeremy, I’m not overkeen on involving the JIC, I just want to get Shepherd and Raj home. I need your help to do that and I’m asking for that help. If you won’t help me, then this will move to a whole new level.’

  Willoughby-Brown nodded enthusiastically. ‘Charlotte, I will do whatever it takes. Believe me. I’ll chase up Taz and I’ll send over all the intel we have.’

  ‘Specifically I want to know who was out there with him.’

  ‘The one guy we know for sure is called Naseem Naeem,’ he said. ‘He flew out with Raj. They met in the mosque and were recruited together.’

  ‘What about the rest?’

  ‘We were monitoring flights and we have a list of possibilities but we were waiting for Raj to get back.’

  ‘What about the location of the training camp? What intel do you have on that?’

  ‘None, I’m afraid.’

  ‘That’s not good.’

  ‘Again, we were depending on Raj for that information. But to be honest, the training can be done pretty much anywhere. I doubt they use one place for long. But the training camp was probably not too far away from the fort.’

  Button nodded. He was probably right. ‘Then I’m going to need the location of yesterday’s attack.’

  ‘Taz can get that, no problem. What’s your game plan?’

  ‘I don’t have one, yet,’ said Button. ‘But I’m working on it.’

  She waited until Willoughby-Brown had left before she picked up her Filofax and flicked through the address book. The number she wanted was written under the ‘Z’ section. She had reversed the number and started it with two random digits. A simple code but pretty much unbreakable. She tapped out the number on her mobile. It was an American number but her call went straight through to voicemail with no introductory message. She left her name and number and ended the call. She leant back in her chair and stared at the framed map of the world on the wall opposite her. All she could do now was wait, and hope that the man she needed still checked his messages.

  Shepherd stood up and stretched. He had lost all track of time and didn’t even know whether it was day or night outside. It was cold, cold enough for him to be shivering, so he assumed it was night. The strip of light still outlined the door but that could have been from a lamp. From time to time he had pressed his ear against the door but heard nothing.

  They hadn’t fed him or given him water. If they continued to deprive him of water, he’d be dead within three or four days. He doubted that would happen, though. This wasn’t about killing him. If they wanted to kill him they’d have slit his throat or put a bullet in his head. This was about breaking him. That was why they had taken his clothes before locking him up; it was the psychological phase of interrogation. They wanted him scared. Then they would move on to the physical phase. They would hurt him. Again, they wouldn’t hurt him badly enough to kill him. But they would hurt him a lot. There was nothing Shepherd could do to change what was going to happen. All he could do was prepare for it and get through it as best he could.

  His legs and shoulders were still aching from the explosion but he didn’t seem to have any broken bones or open wounds. Considering he’d bee
n only twenty metres or so from an exploding RPG warhead, he seemed to have got off lightly. He wanted to exercise but he knew that more than anything he needed to conserve energy. Exercising would burn calories and make him sweat much-needed water out of his system. He rolled his shoulders and flicked his hands back and forth, then touched his toes a dozen times, breathing slowly and evenly. He had to stay focused if he was to get through what lay ahead. All he could do was to take it hour by hour, day by day. He sat down again and drew his knees up to his chest. He closed his eyes. He pictured himself back in Hereford, pulling on his army boots and heading out for a ten-kilometre run in the countryside, one of his favourite routes, out over the fields and through a wooded copse. He knew every inch of the route and he ran it in his mind in real time, step by step.

  Willoughby-Brown cradled his Heckler & Koch G36 as he surveyed the ruined building to his left. He saw movement in one of the windows and brought his telescope sight up in a smooth motion, waited until the head was dead centre and fired a short burst. The head exploded in a shower of red and the body went down. ‘Nice shooting, Warlock,’ said the voice in his headset. Before Willoughby-Brown had the chance to reply a second figure appeared at the window. He let go another short burst and the man’s face exploded.

  ‘Got you, you bastard,’ Willoughby-Brown murmured under his breath. He turned and ran along the path, pulling the pin from a grenade and tossing it to his right where he was sure a gunman was hiding behind a burnt-out car. He ran faster and the car exploded behind him. Ahead of him the path branched left and right. ‘Left, left, left,’ he said.

  ‘Roger that,’ said the voice in his headset. It belonged to the soldier just behind him, a Russian banker who was based in Paris. He used the name Putin, which Willoughby-Brown figured was supposed to be funny. The two others in his team were a student at Edinburgh University and a guy who claimed to be in Texas but who sounded like a Geordie.