Sacrifice (28 page)

‘Remember what I have done for you, Carpenter,’ Kourash hit back. ‘Because of me, more than half the Taliban commanders in this region are dead. Deaths that you and your … company were able to take credit for. You would be nothing without me! Nothing!’

To his dismay, he heard laughter on the other end of the line. ‘You really believe that, don’t you? You’re a pathetic piece of shit, Kourash. Just another piss-ant Bin Laden wannabe, another desperate little man who’ll sell his soul to make a name for himself. I could find a hundred men just like you.’

Above the thunder of his own heartbeat, Kourash was dimly aware of a faint rhythmic thumping noise coming from outside. A helicopter, flying low through the suburbs. It was of no consequence to him. Such aircraft passed this way all the time.

‘You know what this means,’ Kourash said, forcing calm into his voice, forcing himself to be as cold and ruthless as his former ally. ‘You are making an enemy of a man you helped to equip and finance. You have given me the tools to fight a war, and I will make it my life’s work to destroy you with them.’

Six of his best men were dead to be sure, but he had other men at his disposal. More important, he had money and weapons and technology, all provided by Carpenter and Horizon to allow him to fight the war they wanted him to fight.

With all of these things, he would make Carpenter pay for today’s betrayal.

‘I don’t think so,’ Carpenter said, completely unfazed
by his threat. ‘One thing you need to realise about dogs, Kourash. Always keep them on a short leash.’

Outside, the thump of rotor blades was coming closer, though Kourash barely noticed now. He had stopped pacing, was standing in the centre of the room as he listened to Carpenter’s words.

‘Those encrypted cellphones that you’ve been using so much,’ Carpenter went on. ‘We made sure to include a tracking device in each of them that only we could detect. We’ve been following your movements since day one.’ He paused, no doubt savouring the moment before he played his final card. ‘I have to admit, I like the place you bought for yourself.’

Just then, the roar of helicopter engines reached a crescendo, and suddenly the evening sun was obscured as a dark shape soared over the roof of the villa to descend right in front of the living-room window. Kourash watched in horror as a Bell 205 chopper emblazoned with the Horizon logo settled itself into a hover, not more than 50 yards beyond his window.

His eyes blazed with fury, but the anger was not directed at Carpenter. It was towards himself, for allowing his pride and ambition to override common sense, to fool him into thinking he had the upper hand.

One could never have the upper hand over men like Carpenter. Only now did he realise that.

‘Don’t feel bad, Kourash,’ Carpenter said soothingly as the chopper’s side door slid back, revealing a sniper armed with a long-barrelled rifle. ‘You still have one more role to play. You’re going to be my biggest catch yet.’

Unarmed, Kourash could do nothing but watch as the barrel tracked towards him, its owner taking his time to line up the perfect shot. He didn’t try to run. It would
be a futile effort. They would almost certainly have sent in ground forces to surround the house.

His last conscious act was to drop the phone, no longer wishing to hear Carpenter’s gloating voice. Knowing he had reached the end at last, his anger and hatred faded away, replaced only with a vague sense of disappointment. Disappointment that he hadn’t done more, that he would never be the man he had always dreamed of becoming.

And for a fleeting moment, he felt relief. He would be with Mina again. She at least would understand what he had tried to do here. She had always understood, had always accepted him.

He saw the lightning-like muzzle flash, heard the window shatter and felt something slam into his forehead. Then he saw and knew no more.

As the Horizon ground assault team stormed into Kourash’s villa to execute the remainder of his men, Carpenter leaned back in his expensive leather chair, laid his phone down and took a sip of coffee.

That was one troublesome liability taken care of at least.

He wasn’t sorry to see Kourash dead. He would have disposed of him before too long anyway, but circumstances had forced him to move his timetable forward. Kourash had been a fool. A useful fool at times, but a fool nonetheless. He was a man of grandiose fantasies and ambition but little intelligence.

He had played his part in Carpenter’s larger plan, but his part was over.

Now only one problem remained – Ryan Drake.

Anwari had already executed Mitchell, removing Drake’s official reason for being here. And when news
of Anwari’s death reached Drake, any desire for revenge he might have harboured would likewise evaporate.

The logical thing to do would be to pack his gear and head for home. If Drake was smart, he would leave Afghanistan and put this whole mess behind him.

If he was stupid enough to linger on here, he would die.

Drake was sitting alone on the roof of the Agency building, leaning against the brick wall of the stairwell he’d just ascended. Judging by the cigarette butts and plastic coffee cups scattered around, this was a popular spot for stressed office workers to take some time out.

Tonight, though, he had the place to himself.

He took a sip of whisky as he stared at the nearby mountains outlined against the evening sky.

It was a beautiful evening, with the last of the sun’s rays playing radiantly on the distant mountains, the crescent moon just visible in the deep azure sky to the east. The fitful wind had dropped away, the fierce heat of the day at last abating to a more tolerable warmth.

It was the kind of evening that normally brought calm and relaxation to him; that languid time before sunset when the world seemed to slow down.

But not tonight.

Despite attempts by the Afghan police to establish a perimeter around the ambush site, they had found no sign of Kourash. It was hardly surprising – the area was simply too large and densely populated to find one person amongst thousands. Much as it galled him, the man was still out there somewhere.

However, Cunningham had been true to his word. After policing the scene and bringing in a recovery vehicle to carry away the wrecked Humvee, he had arranged for Drake and the others to be transported back to Bagram. Their injuries, though minor, had been treated en route, and without ceremony they had been deposited back at the Agency’s security checkpoint.

Job done, Horizon had departed. Drake had never felt so useless in his life.

‘I had a feeling I’d find you up here.’

He didn’t need to look to know it was McKnight. She had been waiting for him when he arrived back at Bagram, looking and acting much as he had done the previous day. She had meant well, but somehow her concern for his safety only served to highlight what a failure today had been.

She sat down beside him, glancing sidelong at the hip flask in his hand. ‘Aren’t you going to offer the lady a drink?’

Drake handed it over. ‘Wouldn’t have picked you as a whisky drinker, Sam.’

‘My grandfather was Irish. Whisky’s in our blood.’ She grinned and took a gulp, then leaned back against the wall.

The sunlight played across her face and the breeze sighed past, moving a few loose strands of dark hair in front of her eyes. She made no move to brush them aside, and said nothing to Drake, content merely to share the silence.

‘I’m sorry about what happened today,’ she finally said. ‘Mitchell, and Anwari …’

She trailed off, either not knowing how to finish that sentiment, or perhaps expecting a response from him. He wished he had one to give her, but nothing came to
mind. They were losing. The man they had been sent to rescue was dead, and the man responsible had escaped.

Drake glanced up as a distant rumble disturbed the quiet evening air, sounding for all the world like thunder echoing off the nearby mountains, though there were no clouds in the deep blue sky. A moment later, a second boom rolled across the base, and a third.

‘Artillery,’ McKnight remarked, head cocked as she listened to the distant bombardment. It was a familiar sound to her by now. ‘One of the firebases up in the hills, probably.’

Drake leaned his head back against the wall, the muscles in his throat tightening as he swallowed. ‘Christ, doesn’t it ever stop?’ he asked, staring off into the distance but seeing nothing. His eyes were deep pools of sadness.

‘It’s war. It never stops.’

A silence fell between them then, broken only by the distant rumble of battle. Drake now understood a little of what Anya had gone through, living in a world like this for most of her adult life – a world of war without end.

‘I never told you why I didn’t kill Kourash, why I spared the life of a man who tried to take mine.’

He wasn’t even sure why he’d said it, why he felt the need to bring it up now. All he felt certain about was that he wanted her to know the truth. He wanted her to know the kind of man he’d once been.

When she said nothing, he turned to look at her. ‘I know you’re wondering why I did it. Shit, everyone else is.’

‘You’re not the only one who’s been on operations, Ryan. I know the score. Some of the things that happen
out there …’ She shrugged, feeling no need to elaborate. ‘I figured you’d tell me when you were ready.’

He took another pull from the hip flask, exhaling as the whisky seared its way down his throat. He was ready.

‘He wasn’t trying to take my life. He was trying to take his own.’

‘Why?’

His jaw clenched, his grip on the hip flask tightened, as he replayed that moment. The assault on his safe house, the deadly firefight that had broken out, the vicious room-to-room struggle that saw no quarter given on either side.

‘Because I killed his wife.’

He looked at her then, his green eyes shining in the glow of the setting sun. ‘We’d tracked him down to a safe house in Herat. We went in during the night, but one of their sentries spotted us just as we were making entry. After that, it was chaos. We were fighting room to room, even hand to hand, and his men weren’t for surrendering – none of them. You can imagine how that sort of fight played out.’

She said nothing. There was no need. She could imagine the toll that such a battle must have exacted on those involved.

‘That was when I saw her,’ Drake went on. He sighed and looked down at the whisky in his hands. ‘We knew Kourash had a wife. The rumour was she even had a hand in planning some of his attacks, but nobody briefed us she’d be there that night. I saw her pick up a weapon from one of the men we’d killed, saw her bring it up to fire on me. So … I dropped her. Just like that, no hesitation.’

In truth, he didn’t regret killing her. He hadn’t at the
time and he didn’t even now. The moment she picked up that weapon, she ceased to be a civilian and became a threat. And she had known what it would mean for her. But her sacrifice had bought time for her husband to escape.

‘In the confusion Kourash managed to bail out through a window. I saw him outside, heading down a back-alley away from the house, so I put one in his leg to stop him. We moved in to capture him, but he took one look at me and drew a pistol. I’ll never forget the look in his eyes as he lifted it to his head.’

Reacting instinctively, Drake raised his own M4 carbine, took aim in the fraction of a second that he had to spare, and squeezed off a single shot. He’d always been an excellent shot, and today was no exception. The rifle kicked back into his shoulder as the round discharged, followed a moment later by an explosion of blood and bone as it hit its target.

The pistol fell from Anwari’s grip and the man doubled over, howling in pain and clutching what was left of his hand. Blood pumped from the bloody stumps of two fingers. It was over.

‘Tango down!’ Drake called, letting his teammates know that this man was no longer a threat.

Breathing hard as the adrenalin in his blood started to thin, he approached Anwari and planted a kick in the centre of his chest that sent him sprawling.

Just for a moment, the two men remained frozen like that – the victor and the vanquished, both regarding each other for the first time.

This was the man responsible for the deaths of scores of innocent civilians, and several Coalition soldiers. Men like Drake himself. Brothers in arms. Husbands, fathers, sons who would never go home. Because of this man.

Rage and hatred welled up inside him.

‘I know you can understand me’ he said, spitting out each word. ‘It’s over. Your men are dead. Your wife is dead. I killed her myself.’

Drake saw anguish blossom across the man’s features as pain far more intense than mere physical injury crushed him. He saw it all, and revelled in it.

‘I’m not going to let you die here, you piece of shit. You don’t deserve that. You’re going to live for a very long time, remembering what happened here today.’

Unable to contain it any longer, Anwari gave voice to another ragged howl of pain. But this wasn’t the scream of an injured man. It was the scream of a man whose last shred of hope had just been taken from him.

‘It’s my fault,’ he finally said, bringing the grim tale to an end. ‘He wanted to die, but I stopped him. Because I wanted him to live with everything he’d lost. If I’d let him pull that trigger, none of this would have happened. Mitchell … all the other guys in that chopper, it’s all on me.’

He took another drink, not because he wanted it, but because he needed a moment or two to compose himself. It wasn’t often that he really faced up to his past, to the man he’d allowed himself to become. But today he could hide from it no longer.

‘I just … wanted you to know, Sam. I’m not the same man I was back then, but that doesn’t change what happened. I took everything from Kourash, even his way out, because I wanted him to suffer. That’s who I was. That’s what I’d let myself become.’ He exhaled, knowing there was no coming back from this. He had crossed a line, telling her things he’d never admitted to anyone before, perhaps not even himself.