Firefight (9 page)

'No, sir,' Will had replied immediately.

As time went on, though, Jackson had proved himself
to Elliott. More than proved himself, in fact. He had risen
through the ranks, and had come to respect and appreciate
Elliott's blunt, no-nonsense style of talking. There was
no room for bullshit when people's lives depended on you.
And after Will's family died, Steve Elliott had been the
man who stood by him. 'Don't leave the Regiment,
Will,' he had said. 'You'll regret it. Take time out - as much
as you like. But don't leave. Don't let the fight go out
of you.'

Will had ignored his advice. Now and then in the few
months that had followed, Elliott's words had come back
to haunt him. But as time passed and a return to the military
became less and less feasible, so Will had stopped
worrying that his respected commander had been right.
About a year ago, Elliott had dropped him a line, inviting
him to get in touch. The invitation had gone unanswered.

The car trundled to a halt in a small car park just in front
of the main HQ building.

'Thanks for the lift.'

'Yes, sir,' the chauffeur replied. He stepped out of the car,
opened Will's door and stood politely by as he climbed out.
Will took a deep breath, nodded to the driver, then strode
towards the main building.

A uniformed officer whom Will didn't recognise was at
the desk.

'I'm here to see Lieutenant Colonel Elliott,' he said. 'My
name's Will Jackson.'

That look again. The soldier clearly recognised his name.
Will knew what Regiment gossip was like - he'd lay money
on every soldier in the base knowing within the hour that
he had arrived.

'I'll tell him you're here,' the soldier replied.

Steve Elliott was a big man - big even compared to the
well-built SAS soldiers who surrounded him every day.
He wore camouflage trousers and shirt, and Will had to
think hard to remember if he had ever seen the man wear
anything else. Elliott's nose had been broken in a couple
of places and there was an ugly red scar peeping above
the top of his shirt and up his neck. No one knew where
he had received it, but it was fairly widely known that
Elliott had been taken captive and tortured in western
Iraq in 1991.Will had never heard him speak of his experience,
but then few men ever did talk about things like
that. His hair was a steely grey now and his forehead
showed the creases of a lifetime's frowning. But Elliott's
eyes were smiling as he approached Will and shook his
hand.

'How are you, Will?' he asked, warmly.

Will shrugged, his eyes flickering over to the soldier at
the desk, who was watching them with obvious curiosity.
'Is there somewhere we can talk, boss?'

'Of course,' Elliott nodded. 'My office. Come on.'

They walked along the corridor in silence until they
came to a door with Elliott's name on it. He held it open.
'Come on in, Will.'

Steve Elliott's office was very familiar to Will. He'd lost
count of the number of unofficial debriefs that had taken
place here. It was a typical military office - sparse, cold
even. On the wall was an old picture of Elliott in the
days when he was a squadron leader: his nose wasn't
broken then and he looked somehow more innocent, less
ravaged by the stress of the job and the passing years. But
it was clearly the same man, the same steely resolve in
his eyes.

Elliott took a seat behind his desk - a plain table with
a telephone and a few papers scattered over it - while Will
sat in the seat opposite.

'Can I get you something?' Elliott asked. 'A coffee -'

'Nothing. Thanks,' Will replied. 'Look, boss, I know you
tried to get in contact with me a while ago. I'm sorry I -'.

Elliott held up his hand. 'Nothing to apologise for, Will,'
he said briskly, and Will nodded in gratitude. 'Christ only
knows what you must have been going through,' the
commander continued. 'Everyone here was more shocked
than I can tell you. You expect to lose people when you're
out on ops, but -' His voice trailed off. Will had the impression
that Elliott knew he was saying nothing that hadn't
gone through Will's own mind a million times.

'Thank you, sir,' he said quietly.

They sat in silence for a moment.

'I'm surprised to see you here,' Elliott said finally.

'Not as surprised as I am to
be
here.'

'Pankhurst told me I'm to give you anything you need
and that transport was being arranged to the NATO base
in Kandahar. But he didn't tell me much else. Care to elaborate
on your away break to the Stan?'

Will looked at his old friend. Elliott was smiling at him,
leaning back comfortably in his chair. He looked relaxed,
but Will could sense his intrigue, sense that he was desperate
to find out what was going on. But as he sat there, Lowther
Pankhurst's words rang in his head:
We can't afford to trust
anyone
. He might not like the guy, but when the Director
General of MI5 tells you to be suspicious, you'd better be
suspicious.

'Sorry, boss,' he said calmly. 'I'm afraid I can't tell you
that.'

Elliott's eyes narrowed slightly. 'We go back a long way,
Will. I'd like to think we're friends. But I have to tell you
this: it's a brave soldier who keeps his CO in the dark.'

The veiled threat hung there between them. Elliott clearly
did not like the fact that Pankhurst had not told him nearly
as much as he would have expected.

'I'm sorry, boss,' Will replied. 'I'm not a soldier. Not any
more.'

'But you still think of yourself as one, Will. Why else
would you still be calling me "boss"?'

'Old habits die hard, I guess.'

Elliott shrugged. 'Rumours that you're back at Credenhill
will be buzzing around already, Will,' he pressed on. 'You're
quite a celebrity around here, you know. Even now. If word
gets out that you're just a puppet for Five, things could get
nasty for you.'

Will couldn't tell from Elliott's demeanour if that was a
threat or a warning. Either way, he knew his response had
to be the same. 'I won't be around long enough for that to
make any difference to me,' he said firmly. 'I'm sorry, boss,
but I'm past caring about Credenhill gossip. I'm here to
put together a team. I can't tell you what we're doing, not
until the operation is over. Probably not even then.'

'All right, Will,' Elliott conceded. 'I have my orders from
Five. They tell me you need three men.'

Will nodded. 'We'll be going cross-country into
southern Afghanistan. It's going to be snowing and if
things go as they should we'll have one hostage who
won't be in very good shape, so I need at least one person
well trained in cold-weather survival. If any of them have
had active service in Afghanistan, so much the better.
Sharpshooters, well versed in escape and evasion. I need
the best, boss.'

Elliott pressed his fingers together and looked at his former
employee as though sizing him up.

'All right, Will,' he said finally. 'The lads we've selected will
fit the bill. But maybe one day you'll let me know what this
is all about.' He picked up the phone on his desk and dialled
a short number. 'Let Major Adams know we're ready for
him,' he told whoever was at the other end. 'We'll be there
in a few minutes.' He replaced the phone on to its cradle.

'Thank you,' Will said, quietly.

Elliott shrugged and an awkward silence fell on the room.
Eventually the Half Colonel spoke. 'Listen, Will,' he said.
'I'm not trying to get you to tell me what you're doing,
but if you're planning on heading south from Kandahar,
you need to be careful. I know you've had experience in
Afghanistan; I know you understand how fucked up that
place is. But things are different there now. More dangerous,
especially in the south. I'm sure you're aware that there are
Taliban factions regrouping down there. They're well armed
and, frankly, they're desperate. I've lost more men on covert
ops in Afghanistan in the last eighteen months than I'd care
to count.'

Will listened carefully - he knew Elliott didn't give warnings
lightly.

'I've attended enough Regiment funerals this year, Will.
Let's not have any more just before Christmas, eh?'

'I don't want funerals any more than you do, boss.'

'No,' Elliott said. 'I know. They said the operation was
urgent and that you'd want to get to Afghanistan as soon
as possible. When are you planning on leaving?'

Will looked momentarily down to the floor, then fixed
Elliott with a determined stare.

'Transport's arranged for tonight,' he said. 'We don't have
any time to lose.'

She had fallen asleep thinking of her brother. Thinking of
the last time she had seen him, when his face had been so
full of apprehension, his voice so full of urgency. 'You must
flee, Latifa,' he had said. 'We must both flee. They have
found out about me. It is only a matter of time before
they come—'

And now, outside, the sun had set and all was dark, but
night and day had no meaning to her in this place; they
were just arbitrary markers that punctuated her suffering at
regular intervals. She had been asleep for three hours -
about the longest she ever managed before she was woken
up by the cold or by her aching body. But it was neither
of those things that roused her now. It was the sound of
the door being unlocked - the sound that haunted her
every living moment. She knew that whenever someone
came through the door, something unpleasant was about to
happen.

She was confused and disorientated in the dark, but gradually
she became aware that there were men in the hut
with her. Three, maybe four. As she stared around in fear
through the veil of her burka, a light appeared at the door.
Her eyes squinted with momentary pain as she saw the man
with the scarred face in the doorway holding a flaming
torch.

'Hold her down,' he said harshly.

Suddenly there were firm hands on her limbs. She
screamed once, but then she found herself unable to make
another sound as terror froze her throat. There were definitely
four men holding her - she realised that as she was
pressed firmly on to the hard earth. She tried to struggle,
but the men were too strong.

Looking up she saw the one with the torch standing over
her. 'Where is he?' he asked calmly.

'I have told you a thousand times,' she spat,
'I don't know!'
Once more she tried to struggle; once more she was held
down.

The man with the torch knelt beside her. He removed
the thin shoes she was wearing, then deliberately lowered
the burning flame and touched it to the sole of her right
foot. She screamed in agony as he held it there for a number
of seconds. When he removed it she was whimpering breathlessly,
but she screamed a second time when he touched
the torch to her other foot.

When he had finished, he spoke a single word to the
other men and they released her, but by now she was too
agonised and frightened to do anything other than curl up
and sob.

Wordlessly, the men filed out of the hut. They closed the
door behind them and, of course, locked it before walking
away.

*

'You'd better give me the low-down on these guys,' Will
told the CO as they walked along the corridors of Credenhill
HQ towards the briefing room.

Elliott nodded. 'RWW, all three of them,' he said.

'Good,' Will grunted. RWW - the Revolutionary Warfare
Wing, or the Increment to anyone in the know. A
secretive group of crack troops, taken from the SAS and
the SBS, deployed around the world to train terrorists - or
'freedom fighters,' as the British government preferred to
think of them - and carry out hypersensitive, top-secret
operations. The Afghan mujahideen, the Khmer Rouge in
Cambodia and any number of other bands of guerrilla
fighters had been turned into highly effective fighting forces
thanks to the skills of the RWW.The Revolutionary Warfare
Wing was also used to carrying out politically sensitive
operations that would always be officially denied - a
roundabout way of saying assassinations. When the head of
MI6 had recently gone on the record saying that to his
knowledge none of his people had ever carried out an
assassination, he'd been telling the truth, because the
Increment did their dirty work for them. These guys got
deployed all over the world: Iraq, Afghanistan, South
America. You name it, if it was a hot spot, the RWW would
put in an appearance and its men were among the best the
Regiment could provide.

There were other good reasons, though, for drawing
his talent from the RWW and he suspected that Pankhurst
had specifically asked for them. These soldiers would have
undergone the most rigorous vetting of anyone in the
British military. Their bank accounts would have been
watched; their phones would have been tapped; Will
had even heard that there was a policy of entrapment -
putting temptation in the way of these guys or trying to
trick them into revealing sensitive information to a
supposed stranger who was really working for the military.
If Pankhurst was worried about a leak, then giving
Will a team from the RWW was a neat way of lessening
the risk - they were as close to watertight as you could
get.

'Frank Anderson's the most experienced,' said Elliott,
interrupting Will's thoughts. He recognised the name and
a face vaguely popped into his mind. 'Thirty-one years old.
Frankly, I don't think he'll be thrilled taking orders from
someone who's not currently in the Regiment, but he'll
do it.'

'Are you sure?' Will demanded. 'I haven't got time to
start breaking people in.'

'If I give him an order, he'll follow it,' Elliott said, confidently.
'And you could do with his experience. He's led a
number of expeditions into the mountain regions of
Afghanistan, so he knows the country and what you might
be up against.'

Will nodded. 'OK. Good.'

'Mark Drew's a bit of a Regiment golden boy. Fucking
quiet, fucking fit - endurance levels like I've never seen.
Good behind the wheel of a car - not that you'll have
much time for sightseeing.'

'Has he been deployed in Afghanistan?'

'No. But several operations in southern Iraq and South
America. Trust me, he'll be an asset.'

'And the third one - what did you say his name was?'

'Kennedy. Nathan Kennedy. Popular, bit of a smart-arse.
Geordie lad. Got a mouth on him and likes the sound of his
own voice, but fucking sharp. He's been in and out of the
Congo several times in the last couple of years.'

'The Congo? I didn't know the SAS was there.'

'There's a lot of things you don't know about the SAS,
Will,' Elliott said pointedly. 'You've been otherwise engaged,
remember? Anyway, Kennedy's very good - at least as good
as the other two.'

'Anderson has a family, doesn't he?' Will asked, as nonchalantly
as he could. He was hotly aware that two years ago
he would never have asked that question. You go in, you
do the job and you look after your mates, no matter what
their personal situation.

'Does it matter?'

Will sniffed. 'No,' he lied. Truth was, his attitude towards
such things had changed. The idea of taking a family man
into the field of war was one that he suddenly had difficulty
with.

'A young daughter. He wouldn't want me to know that
I told you that, and he certainly doesn't expect any special
treatment because of it. It's a strong team. For my money,
there's just one thing about it that doesn't add up.'

Will raised an eyebrow. 'What's that?'

The CO stopped walking. 'You, Will,' he said bluntly.
'You've been out of it for two years. God only knows what
your fitness levels are. You've been part of the Regiment
for long enough to know that if you don't keep yourself
sharp -'

'Don't worry about me, boss. I'll be fine. 'Will tried to
sound confident, but he knew there was truth in what the
Colonel was saying. He'd kept in shape, but there was
nothing to guarantee that this would be enough. Christ,
he hadn't even held a gun for two years. All the more
reason to have a good team around him - he hoped that
Anderson, Drew and Kennedy were as good as they
sounded.

Elliott led them to a briefing room at the far end of
the administrative building, one of several secure areas
where operational details were discussed. Will knew that
these rooms were padded with a soundproofing material
and they had no windows to ensure that there was no
line of sight into the room. Elliott nodded at the soldiers
standing guard outside as they approached and the doors
were immediately held open.

There were four men waiting inside. One was in camouflage
trousers and shirt; the other three wore civvies. They
were sitting around a large table, but all stood up as Elliott
and Will walked in.

'At ease,' Elliott said, before turning to the man in military
uniform. 'Major Hughes, this is Will Jackson. Will, Major
Hughes has been briefed by Five to put your team together.'

Hughes shook Will's hand, before introducing the three
men. He was a tall man - taller even than Will - with
heavily greased hair combed over in a side parting. He
looked almost old-fashioned, like a soldier in a black and
white photograph from the First World War. 'Frank
Anderson, Mark Drew and Nathan Kennedy.'

Will nodded at each of them in turn. It would have
been surprising if he hadn't recognised three members of
the Increment by sight and sure enough now that he was
in the room with them, their faces were familiar. None
of them were clean-shaven and Will understood why: a
lot of the Regiment boys had taken to growing beards,
as it helped them blend in to those parts of the Middle
East where they were regularly deployed. Frank Anderson
was broad-shouldered and square-chinned. His hair, clearly
balding, was cropped short. No one could say he was a
good-looking man. Mark Drew was smaller but just as
stocky, with blond hair and flat, blue eyes. Nathan Kennedy
was the most severe-looking of the three. His skin was
tanned, his eyes brown and he had a gleam in his eyes
that would have been cheeky had Will not known that
he was a trained killer. Will had a vague recollection of a
night a few years back when a few Hereford locals had
been riling Kennedy in one of the town's pubs. Nathan
Kennedy wasn't the type to let it pass and the civvies -
four or five of them - had ended the evening with broken
noses. Not exactly a guy with a long fuse, but useful in a
fight.

'Can't get enough of the old place, eh, Jackson?'
Kennedy asked, laconically. 'What's wrong - not getting
enough skirt on civvy street? Thought you'd come and
spend a bit of time with some real men, see if the
pheromones rub off?'

Drew and Anderson smiled at Kennedy's comment, but
Elliott didn't. 'Shut it, Kennedy,' he instructed.

'Right you are, boss,' Kennedy replied with a twinkle.
He settled back in his chair and the three of them sat there,
evidently reserving judgement on the man who was
supposed to lead them into one of the most dangerous
places in the world.

Will looked around. The room was fairly empty, with the
exception of the table, a few chairs and an overhead projector
pointed at a large whiteboard.

'Has this room been swept for bugs?' he asked Elliott.

The CO raised an eyebrow and Will knew why - he
clearly wasn't used to being spoken to like that, especially
not in front of his men.

'Of course it's been swept, Will. They all are, regularly.
You know that.'

'Good,' Will replied. 'I'll need a different room.'

'I beg your pardon?' Elliott replied, his voice dangerously
quiet.

'I said, I'll need a different room. I'm sorry, boss. What I
have to say to these men is sensitive and I'm afraid I can't
brief them in the first room you lead me to.'

Elliott and Will locked gazes and he was aware of the
others eyeing each other uncomfortably.

'Are you suggesting somebody at Credenhill has ordered
surveillance on this briefing room, Will?'

Will held his head high. He hated having to embarrass
his old friend like this, but security was security. 'I'm not
suggesting anything, boss. But I'll need a different place to
brief them.'

His demand seemed to echo around the room and Elliott
appeared unwilling to answer it. 'OK,Will,' he said finally,
quietly. 'We'll ignore the fact that your absence from the
Regiment has made you forget your manners.' He looked
over at the Major. 'Take them to another briefing room,'
he ordered.

'Thank you, boss,' Will said.

'All right,' Elliott replied gruffly. 'I'll have someone open
up the foreign-weapons armoury for you.'

'And we'll need transport to Brize Norton in about an
hour and a half.'

Elliott nodded, then without another word he strode from
the room.

Major Hughes silently led the remaining four of them
down the corridor to a second briefing room. 'I'm sorry,
Major,' Will told him when they arrived. 'I'm going to have
to ask you not to come in.'

The Major narrowed his eyes. 'It's not the way we do
things around here, Jackson,' he said, waspishly. 'I've put
this team together for you. I want to know what they're
doing.'

Will looked about, then indicated with a nod of his head
that the Major should step aside with him. The moment
they were out of earshot, Will spoke quietly. 'My orders
come from the Director General of MI5, Major Hughes,'
he said. 'You can call him and check or you can do what
I say. The end result will be the same - I'm going to brief
these men on my own. I'm sorry if that makes you feel
insecure, but I don't have time to fuck around avoiding
stepping on people's toes. Now do you have a problem with
that?'

Hughes looked back at him with unbridled dislike. 'No
problem,' he replied.

'Good. 'Will turned to the three waiting men. 'Get inside,'
he told them. They opened the door and disappeared into
the room. Will followed.

This briefing room was much like the other - muffled
and windowless. Will shut the door behind him, then turned
to address the three SAS men, who stood in a line by the
table.

'Right,' he said. 'First things first. There seems to be a bit
of resistance to the idea of me giving orders around here.
If any of you have a problem with it, now's the time to
pipe up.'

None of the men gave any reaction.

'Good.' He walked up to Anderson - wasn't he the one
Elliott thought he might have trouble with? 'You sure,
Anderson?'