Sacrifice (27 page)

‘Still in it, mate,’ he replied, unlatching his seat belt and tumbling head first onto the broken roof of the Humvee. ‘Shit. Can you see anything outside?’

‘Not much,’ Keegan said, peering out through the rear window. ‘That was a goddamned ANA truck taking shots at us.’

Drake shook his head, slivers of broken glass falling from his hair. ‘It wasn’t the ANA. That was Kourash.’

Keegan’s eyes lit up as the truth dawned on him. ‘The son of a bitch set a trap.’

‘And we walked right into it,’ Drake replied, furious with himself for not seeing it coming. It all made sense now; why Kourash had broadcast that execution video, why he had allowed the signal to be traced back to its source.

He had done it to lure Drake in, to get him to a place where he could be tracked. No doubt they had been following the Humvee since it left the abandoned cement plant, just waiting for the perfect place to spring their trap.

Wincing in pain, he looked over at Crawford. The man was hanging in his seat, still secured by his belt. An angry bruise was forming down one side of his face.

‘I can smell gas,’ Keegan hissed. ‘We need to get out of here, buddy.’

Drake nodded. ‘I hear you. Crawford, can you—’

He was interrupted by a loud bang that reverberated through the interior. It was the sound of a high-velocity round ricocheting off the Humvee’s armour, and it was
soon followed by two more. The crackle of automatic gunfire echoed from outside.

‘Shit. We’re taking fire,’ Keegan said, as if Drake hadn’t realised already.

‘Get out, John. I’ll get Crawford.’ Wasting no time, Drake unlatched the man’s seat belt, causing him to pitch out of his seat and onto the roof with a resounding clang.

However, the impact seemed to have roused him. He groaned and opened his eyes, focusing blearily on Drake.

‘We’re getting out of here, mate. Come on.’ Grabbing his arms, Drake pulled and hauled him towards the door. At the same time, Keegan scrambled out through the rear window, grabbed Drake’s door and managed to lever it open, allowing him to drag the semi-conscious man out.

‘Thanks,’ Drake said quickly, laying Crawford against the side of the upturned vehicle. His eyes were fully open now, though he wore a puzzled look as if trying to work out how he’d ended up in an upside-down Humvee. ‘Crawford, can you hear me?’

His eyes focused on Drake then, and the puzzlement quickly gave way to a look of irritation. ‘Course I can hear you,’ he snapped, shoving the younger man back. ‘Remind me not to thank the asshole who taught you to drive. What kind of shit are we in?’

‘We’ve got company,’ Keegan warned, drawing his side arm and taking cover behind the makeshift barrier as another burst of fire split the air, several rounds hammering off the Humvee’s broken chassis.

‘There’s your answer,’ Drake said. Leaving Crawford to sort himself out, he stole a glance around the side of the Humvee. Sure enough, armed men were advancing towards them along both sides of the canal, clad in the uniform of the ANA.

But these were no ANA troopers. They were Kourash’s men wearing the uniform of their enemies. He counted at least three on each side, all armed with AK-47 assault rifles.

Drake and his two companions could muster only three side arms. He had no idea where his carbine was, but he hadn’t seen it inside the cab. Likely it had been thrown loose when they pitched over.

One of their attackers had spotted him and raised his assault rifle to fire. Ducking back behind cover, Drake heard the distinctive thump as a burst of fire scythed past him, chewing up the ground only feet away or punching holes in the Humvee’s side panelling.

Drawing his Sig Sauer, he flicked the safety off, leaned out and snapped off several shots in his attacker’s direction, none of which found their mark. He considered himself a reasonable marksman with a rifle, but even with the best pistol in the world the chances of hitting much beyond 50 yards was slim to say the least.

He heard the crack of Keegan’s weapon beside him, joined a few seconds later by Crawford on his left. Their desperate volley of fire was enough to force their enemies to duck for cover, but only Keegan scored a hit. Drake watched as one man pitched forward and tumbled down the sloping side of the canal, leaving a smear of blood behind him. Several more shots from both himself and Keegan were enough to put him down for good.

However, the answering storm of automatic fire was enough to force all three operatives to drop down behind the Humvee. They could do nothing but press themselves against its armoured sides as rounds slammed into the ground around them or ricocheted off the crippled vehicle.

‘We’re screwed here,’ Crawford called out above the
din, ejecting a spent magazine from his weapon. ‘We have to fall back before they outflank us.’

‘Fall back where?’ Keegan gestured to the open ground beyond their scant cover. ‘That’s a kill zone right there. We move, and we’re dead.’

Drake looked around in desperation. They couldn’t retreat and they couldn’t stand their ground. In a matter of seconds, Kourash’s men would have outflanked and surrounded them. Then they could pick off the three helpless operatives at their leisure.

And in that moment, Drake knew Kourash had won.

Half a kilometre away, Kourash surveyed the firefight through a pair of high-powered binoculars. He had watched the three men scramble from the wreckage, looking desperately for a way out but finding none. He saw one of his own men fall, and the others press forward under a storm of fire to avenge their comrade’s death.

Nothing motivated men more than the desire for revenge. He understood this concept best of all.

Armed only with pistols, Drake and his two companions were unable to put up more than a token resistance as Kourash’s men took up firing positions on the edge of the canal. With a clear field of fire from an elevated position, they couldn’t ask for anything better.

He had won, he knew in that moment. Drake might have proven himself more resourceful than he’d expected, but in the end it had made no difference. For all his cunning and resourcefulness, he was still going to die. He was going to pay for what he had done all those years ago.

And with Drake gone, he could turn his full attention to his true purpose. He would broaden his campaign of
assassinations and bombings to encompass the entire country. The Taliban, the remnants of al-Qaeda, the countless warring factions and splinter groups and fanatics fighting for control of Afghanistan would all be swept away like shadows at the coming of dawn. And with the Coalition soldiers withdrawn, this country would finally know true freedom.

That was his destiny. That was the path he had started on when he left behind his abusive childhood four decades earlier. That would be his final testimony on a life used to its fullest potential.

Kourash allowed himself a faint smile of triumph as he trained his binoculars in on Drake, eager to see the man’s final moments. He saw him crouched down behind the crashed Humvee, saw the hope drain from his eyes as the realisation sank in that he was going to die in a shit-filled canal.

This is where it ends for you, my friend, he thought.

But then suddenly the look on Drake’s face changed to one of puzzlement, as if something unexpected had just interrupted him. Kourash frowned, wondering what the man was thinking.

His frown deepened as, to his dismay, Drake rose up from his hiding place without fear to stare at the top of the concrete embankment. Why was the man able to do such a thing? Why hadn’t he been cut down by a burst of AK fire?

Still failing to understand, Kourash moved his gaze upwards, following Drake’s line of sight, and felt his blood freeze.

‘No …’

Drake couldn’t understand it. One moment they had been pinned down, powerless to stop their enemies
moving to outflank and pour a murderous rain of fire down on them, the next it had all fallen silent.

Glancing up to the place from which the insurgents had been pouring fire down on them, he saw one of them lying sprawled over the lip, his weapon lying several yards further down the slope, blood draining slowly down the bleached concrete.

‘What in the hell just happened?’ Keegan asked, rising slowly, cautiously up from his hiding place. His face was cut and grazed, smeared with blood and soot, but he had somehow managed to keep hold of his tattered baseball cap.

‘No idea. But we’re alive when we shouldn’t be,’ Drake said.

And then, just like that, four figures appeared at the top of the slope. Not insurgents, not men in fake ANA uniforms, but soldiers. Soldiers armed with M4 carbines and clad in uniforms that were not American or British.

Soldiers belonging to Horizon Defence.

‘Good to see you again, mate,’ Matt Cunningham said, flashing a grin at his friend. Smoke still trailed from the barrel of his carbine. ‘Are we late?’

For several seconds, Kourash just sat there staring at the scene, refusing to believe what his eyes were telling him.

It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t.

Only moments before, his men had been poised to kill Drake and the two men unlucky enough to have been travelling with him. He had felt the rush of success, the joy of knowing he had prevailed over a hated adversary.

And then it had all fallen apart. His men were dead, Drake was alive, and it was all because of the last people on earth Kourash had expected to come to his aid.

Shaking, trembling with impotent rage and despair, he rose from his vantage point and turned away, unable to stomach it any longer.

Still stunned by what he had just witnessed, Drake stood in silence as Cunningham descended the steep slope towards him, apparently untroubled by the dead body he passed. He was a soldier to the core – he lived for this stuff.

Behind him, several Horizon operatives were checking the fallen insurgents, keeping their weapons ready until they were sure their enemies were dead.

‘You did all this?’ Drake finally managed to say.

Cunningham glanced at the crumpled, bullet-riddled remains of the Humvee. ‘Aye. And not a minute too soon by the looks of things.’ He looked at Drake. ‘I thought I was done saving your arse when you left the Regiment.’

‘You two know each other?’ Crawford asked, one hand pressed against the side of his head. The skin was already discoloured and noticeably swollen.

‘We served together when I was with the SAS,’ Drake hurriedly explained. ‘Matt was my sergeant.’

‘That’s beautiful.’ Crawford’s sarcasm was impossible to miss. ‘How the hell did you guys show up so fast?’

‘Believe me, it wasn’t luck,’ Cunningham assured him. ‘We had intel that insurgents were using fake ANA uniforms to get through checkpoints, and that they would be in this area today.’ He gestured to the destroyed Humvee. ‘Looks like you caught the worst of it.’

‘No shit,’ Keegan remarked cynically. ‘You could have warned us.’

At this, Cunningham shrugged. ‘Warn you of what? To avoid every ANA soldier in Kabul? Aye, good luck with that.’

Drake suspected there was another reason they hadn’t been notified of the danger; it would have alerted Kourash that they were onto him. Drake and the others had been the bait – bait that Kourash couldn’t possibly refuse.

‘This was Kourash’s work,’ he cut in. ‘He laid a trap for us. He’ll be close by. He’s always around to watch his attacks.’

Cunningham nodded. ‘Aye, so I heard. We have Afghan police sweeping nearby buildings as we speak. If he’s here, they’ll find him.’ He looked Drake up and down. ‘You all right, mate? We’ve a medic in our team …’

‘I’m fine,’ Drake lied. In the space of a couple of minutes he had gone from staring death in the face, to standing side by side with people he had regarded as enemies. Had he been wrong about them? Even more unsettling, had Anya?

He heard sirens wailing and turned his gaze towards the bridge. Afghan police had just turned up and were busy securing the area. Two officers hurried towards the burning remains of the taxi with fire extinguishers.

Cunningham gestured to the edge of the canal, where a Horizon armoured personnel carrier had pulled to a halt, its roof-mounted machine gun tracking back and forth, ready to lay down suppressing fire at a moment’s notice.

‘Looks like you could use a lift,’ he observed with a wry smile. ‘We’ll get the three of you back to Bagram once we’ve finished up here.’

‘All part of the service, huh?’ Keegan remarked cynically. ‘Thought you guys were in this for the pay cheque.’

‘I’ll be sure to send your Agency the bill,’ Cunningham returned, then slapped Drake’s shoulder. ‘Feel better,
Ryan. You’ll live to see tomorrow, and that’s not bad for Afghanistan.’

With that, he turned and stalked away, already issuing instructions into his radio headset. Drake watched him go, torn between suspicion and gratitude.

If Horizon were friends instead of enemies, then what did that make Anya?

‘How could you have done this, you bastard?’ Kourash spat, gripping the phone so tightly that the casing threatened to crack as he paced the living room of his villa. ‘Six of my best men are dead. You have betrayed me!’

Never before had he spoken to his benefactor like this. The man who had arranged his escape from that hellish Coalition prison near the Pakistan border, where he was watched so closely that he couldn’t even take his own life. The man who had provided him with weapons, money, equipment – the means to wage the war he had always dreamed of.

The man who had shared the same vision as himself, even if it was for different reasons.

It was a lie, he realised now. He had been betrayed. All his plans, all his schemes and years of toil and sacrifice, the great destiny he had foreseen for himself … All of it had been blown away like dust on the wind.

All because of this man.

‘You betrayed yourself, Kourash. Don’t come crying to me about it now.’ Richard Carpenter’s voice was as cold and ruthless as Kourash’s was bitter and enraged. ‘Your instructions were to kill Mitchell when we delivered him to you. Instead you decided to
indulge in some pathetic revenge trip.
You
brought Drake and his team out here just so you could kill him.
You
almost fucked up everything I’ve been working for.’