He was clearly not a marksman. His arm was locked straight and it flew up to the left as soon as he released the round. But the shot was almost lucky. It slammed into the side of the moving Hilux, its ricochet sparking just a few inches to the right of Danny’s position.

  Danny’s response was instinctive, ruthless and executed within a fraction of a second. He couldn’t risk the gunman releasing a second round. It wasn’t just that Danny risked taking a direct hit. If they blew a tyre, their whole operation would be fucked. Both these guys knew the Imam. Both of them had militant tendencies. It could also mean they were in contact with Al-Zafawi. If so, Danny couldn’t risk them tipping off the Taliban leader.

  He had to put them down.

  He did it with a single short burst. He hadn’t zeroed the weapon, and the speeding Hilux was jolting violently. But Danny was well trained in firing from a moving platform, and his aim was accurate enough as he moved the weapon left to right with the trigger squeezed. The rounds cut into the abdomens of the two men, mowing them down instantly, but not immediately killing them. Danny was aware of figures appearing behind them – crowds gathering. As the retort of the assault rifle subsided, and the two young men collapsed, he could hear their agonised screams above the noise of the engine.

  The screams soon faded as the Hilux headed north over hard-baked, bumpy terrain. In the absence of any further threats, Danny crouched below the sides of the vehicle. He made his weapon safe and clutched his wounded shoulder – firing the weapon had made it more painful and he had to quell a wave of nausea. The Hilux swerved to the right as Caitlin continued to speed across the hard-baked, uneven ground. Peering over the edge of the vehicle Danny saw the village of Panjika diminish into a haze. Only then did he start to swear beneath his breath.

  He hadn’t wanted to leave a trail of corpses. Corpses meant questions. Local army. Local police. Word might even get back to Holroyd.

  He looked out of the back of the Hilux. The heavy wheels were leaving a trail on the terrain. He shuffled up to the front end of the vehicle and hammered on the back of the cab with a flat fist. The Hilux skidded to a sudden halt leaving an even more pronounced mark on the ground. He sprinted round to the driver’s side and opened the door.

  ‘Move up,’ he told Caitlin. ‘I’ll take the wheel.’ And when it looked like Caitlin was about to protest, he said: ‘A woman driving is going to stick out. Now move up.’

  Caitlin did so, forcing the hooded Imam further up against the passenger door.

  Danny took the wheel. ‘We’re leaving a trail. We need to get to the road.’

  ‘North-east,’ Caitlin said, pointing to their two o’clock.

  Danny accelerated in that direction. He paid as much attention to his rear and side mirrors as he did to the way ahead. If anyone was following, they needed early warning. But so far, all he saw was the parched terrain. Danny glanced at Caitlin. ‘We need directions,’ he said.

  Caitlin nodded. She removed her handgun and roughly pulled off the Imam’s headdress. He winced in the sudden brightness, then started gabbling in Pashto. ‘What a fucking pain in the arse,’ Caitlin said as she pressed her gun into the side of his head. ‘How do we get to the cave?’ she shouted over the noise of the engine and the Imam’s frenzied shouting.

  ‘I do not know,’ the Imam spat.

  ‘Oh, shame,’ Caitlin said. She grabbed him by his hair and slammed his face against the dashboard. ‘Can you remember now?’ she asked.

  The Imam looked dazed. ‘T . . . take the road heading east. You will come to a shrine. That is where you must come off the road and go north towards the mountain.’

  ‘What’s the ground like?’

  The Imam gave her an uncomprehending look.

  ‘The ground,’ she repeated. ‘The terrain. Flat? Bumpy? Mountainous?’

  ‘Yes,’ he nodded. ‘Very bumpy.’

  ‘Does Al-Zafawi have guards with him?’

  ‘I do not know. I am just a humble Imam—’

  ‘Shoot him in the leg,’ Danny said.

  ‘No!’ the Imam said, as Caitlin pressed her gun into his knee. ‘I will tell you, I will tell you!’

  ‘Do it fast.’

  ‘There are four people, plus him. Sometimes three, if one of them is going for supplies. There are always two of them awake.’

  Danny nodded. ‘Cover his head,’ he said.

  Caitlin complied. As she pulled the headdress over the Imam’s head, Danny looked left. He could just see, shimmering on the horizon, what he presumed was the perimeter fence of the ANA forward operating base to the north of Panjika. Distance, two to three klicks. No sign of patrols on the intervening terrain. He fixed his eyes on the open ground ahead and floored the Hilux as fast as he dared on this rough ground. They needed to get to the road as quickly as possible.

  It took ten minutes of mute driving to achieve this. When the road appeared up ahead, it was on raised ground. Danny slowed as they approached, easing the Hilux on to the poorly laid highway and turning east. In his rear-view mirror he saw a farm vehicle disappearing into the distance. Up ahead, a rickety Transit van was travelling in the same direction, about fifty metres distant.

  ‘We need somewhere to stop,’ Caitlin said, speaking quietly so it would be difficult for the Imam to understand them.

  Danny only nodded in reply. He fixed his eyes on the road ahead and drove.

  It took another five minutes before a suitable stopping point presented itself: a solitary, derelict building set back about twenty metres on the southern side of the highway. Danny couldn’t just head off road: there were now at least five other cars in view. Instead he pulled over and waited a couple of minutes until there were no passing vehicles to spot his movements. Then he sped across the rough terrain towards the derelict building and pulled up behind it, hidden from the highway. He killed the engine.

  ‘Leave him there,’ he said, pointing at the hooded Imam. ‘We’ll talk outside.’

  The afternoon heat was brutal as he exited the Hilux and walked round to the back. When they spoke, it was in low voices.

  ‘We need leverage,’ Danny said. ‘If Al-Zafawi and his goons are holed up in a cave and armed, we can’t just walk in there. They’ll mince us. Fragmentation grenades are no good because they’ll kill Al-Zafawi. We need to use the Imam to lure them all outside.’

  ‘Send him in first?’ Caitlin said. ‘Are you crazy. He’ll just tell them what’s going on.’

  ‘Which is why we need leverage. You said his family’s back in the village?’

  ‘Sure, but if we were going to get to them, we should have done it before.’

  Danny looked out across the parched desert. ‘How many villages like that do you reckon have been wiped out by a British or American bomb strike?’ he said. ‘Tens? Hundreds?’

  Caitlin looked at him like he was crazy. ‘We can’t exactly call in fast air,’ she said.

  ‘Course not,’ Danny said. ‘But he doesn’t know that. And if I was him, and two British soldiers told me they were about to order a Hellfire strike on the village where my family are living, I think I’d listen up.’

  Caitlin stared at him. Then she shook her head and smiled. ‘In another life, Danny Black, you and Tony could have been friends.’

  ‘I seriously doubt that,’ Danny said. ‘What did you bring from your digs?’

  Caitlin grabbed her rucksack from the back of the Hilux. She rummaged inside. ‘Nine millimetre rounds,’ she said. ‘Morphine shots. Sterile dressings.’ She looked meaningfully at Danny’s bad shoulder. ‘Sat phone.’

  ‘Tell me it’s switched off.’

  ‘Relax, Danny. No one’s tracking us.’

  ‘Anything else.’

  ‘Duct tape. MREs. Women’s things – help yourself to those.’ She held up a fistful of tampons.

  ‘Very fucking useful.’

  ‘You’d be surprised,’ Caitlin muttered.

  ‘Let’s move our guy out,’ Danny said. ‘I want to talk to him.’

  He walked round to the passenger side, opened the door and roughly pulled the Imam out of the vehicle, before dragging him round to the back. He ripped off the hood, then forced the old man to his knees, handgun to head. The Imam was more subdued now. He closed his eyes and trembled. He clearly had a good idea of what normally happened to people in this position.

  ‘Do you know who we are?’ he asked the Imam.

  The Imam kept his eyes shut and shook his head fervently.

  ‘Have a guess. I said, have a guess.’

  ‘British soldiers,’ the Imam said, his voice cracked and dry.

  ‘Got it in one. Do you know what would happen if I told my bosses that I’d just shot the guy who I think was responsible for radicalising Al-Zafawi in the first place? They’d give me a medal. So my advice is to do what I say.’ He mouthed the words ‘sat phone’ to Caitlin, who delved into her rucksack and handed it over. ‘Open your eyes.’

  The Imam did as he was told.

  ‘Know what this is?’

  The Imam nodded.

  ‘Good. It takes one call from me, and twenty minutes later a British or American aircraft flies over Panjika and delivers a payload of Hellfire missiles into the area to the west of the river. Remind me where your family lives.’

  He didn’t reply. Danny cracked him over the head with the handle of his pistol. ‘To the west of the river.’

  ‘Children? Grandchildren?’

  He nodded.

  ‘We’re going to fuck them up, my friend, unless you do exactly what I tell you. You want to see what happens when people get fucked-up by British soldiers?’ He pulled the crumpled A4 photograph of the butchered family from his pocket and held it in front of the Imam’s face. For a moment he thought the old man was going to puke. He let the image sink in for a moment before shoving the picture back into his pocket. Then he knelt down so he was face to face with the Imam. ‘This is what’s going to happen,’ he said. ‘I hope you’re listening carefully, because if you mess this up, those kiddies back at your compound don’t get to see another day. You’re going to guide us to the place where Al-Zafawi is hiding. When we get there, you are going to approach the cave. We’ll be watching every single step you make. When you get there, you’re going to tell Al-Zafawi that two British soldiers came to your mosque asking questions. You’ll tell him that you put them off the scent – you understand what that means?’

  The Imam nodded again.

  ‘How do you normally travel to see him?’

  ‘He sends people. They drive me.’

  ‘Tonight it’s going to be different. You’ll tell him that you made the journey by yourself because you wanted to warn him that people are looking for him. Then, when the time is right, you’re going to lead him and his guys outside the cave for prayers.’

  The Imam stared at him. ‘And then?’ he said.

  ‘We’ll be very careful to make sure that you’re not hit.’

  ‘What about Al-Zafawi?’

  ‘We need him alive.’

  ‘And the others.’

  Danny didn’t answer. He just gave the Imam a meaningful stare.

  ‘You screw this up, I’ll make the call. Your family will be dead by midnight. Do you understand?’

  The Imam bowed his head. ‘You are a monster,’ he said.

  ‘I haven’t even got started yet. Do you understand?’

  ‘I understand.’

  Danny looked up at Caitlin. ‘Put him back in the vehicle.’

  Caitlin pulled the Imam up to his feet. Dragged him round to the passenger door again and shoved him into the cab. She returned to where Danny was still standing at the rear of the Hilux. ‘You’re a real hearts and minds guy, you know that?’

  Danny gave her a dangerous look. ‘Just get in the car,’ he said.

  ‘This isn’t watertight, Danny. He might make the call to keep Al-Zafawi in the cave. Tell him everything. Then we’re forced to go in blind. We don’t have the gear or the personnel to make a success of that.’

  ‘I’m not done with him yet,’ Danny stated. ‘Just get in the car. We haven’t got time to fuck around.’

  CHAPTER 17

  The two diazepam would keep Dexter under for at least eight hours. Tony needed to make good use of that time.

  At no point during their debriefs had anyone mentioned the bomb-making gear in Target Red’s compound. It was still safely stowed away in Tony’s pack. Two blocks of military grade C-4 plastic explosive. A blasting cap and remote detonator. A nine-volt battery. A syringe. A small phial of mercury. Enough here to make a substantial roadside IED. Take out a vehicle and kill a few of its occupants.

  Tony glanced over at Dexter. He was clearly in a deep sleep. But Tony could still be interrupted. Holroyd or McGuigan could walk in unannounced at any time. So he put on his ops waistcoat, stowed the items in its empty pouches, along with a small roll of duct tape and a penknife that he always kept at the bottom of his pack, and stepped outside.

  It was the hottest time of day. Anyone who had the opportunity had retreated inside. A few military vehicles were moving across the base. Wherever ANA soldiers had congregated, they did so in whatever shade they could find: accommodation blocks, vehicle hangars, the med centre, briefing units. Tony glanced across the camp in the direction of the dog enclosure. Nobody had ventured in that direction. Nor did Tony. Instead, he hurried past the med centre and moved north, towards a tendril of smoke drifting lazily up to the sky.

  The smoke had been ever-present since his arrival in camp. Tony knew that it had to come from some kind of burn pit, where waste products from the camp were disposed of. As he approached, he saw a rough structure made of metal posts and a pitched corrugated iron roof, maybe forty metres wide. No walls. Up close, he saw that it was a sprawling, industrial mess. Four metal chimneys emerged from the roof and the interior was covered with scaffolding units and yellow iron ladders. Directly beneath each chimney were a cylindrical incinerator and a once-white control cabinet. An old forklift was parked up to one side of the building, but this refuse unit was derelict, the incinerators unused. Instead, the Afghans had reverted to the time-honoured method of digging a big hole in the ground and incinerating any waste in the open air. The area around the burn pit stank of charred debris, the air was thick with toxic smoke and of course it was hot. Refuse would be tipped into the burn pit morning and evening. During the day, it was unpleasant, a health hazard and deserted.

  A place where a man could work unseen.

  He took up position behind a mound of charred waste on the very northern edge of the burn pit. There was nothing between him and the perimeter fence, thirty metres distant. He crouched on the hard ground, keeping as low as possible between the choking fumes, and removed the individual items from his ops vest.

  The blocks of C-4 were soft in the heat, but the plastic explosive would be entirely stable if kept separate from a detonating charge. He put them to one side and examined the rest of the gear. Demolitions were Tony’s thing. He knew the importance of understanding your equipment. Checking it for faults. He examined the blasting cap closely. Two cylindrical metallic prongs connected by a length of blue and green wire to a plastic red junction box with terminals for the battery. He cracked open the junction box. Examined the wiring inside. Got to work.

  It was fiddly. He had no wire cutters so he had to rely on his penknife to ease the cables out of the junction box, strip them down and re-circuit them. It took a careful half hour to complete the job, sweaty in the direct heat and keeping his breathing shallow because of the toxic fumes. When he’d finished, the syringe had been cut down to a simple cylinder, blocked at either end with a strip of duct tape. A bare wire pierced each piece of duct tape and the syringe was half-filled with mercury. Held vertically, the mercury covered only one terminal. Moved to the horizontal, it touched both. A basic trip switch. The bare wires led from the syringe to two prongs of the blasting cap and the terminal for the nine-volt battery. The battery was not attached, nor were the prongs of the blasting cap inserted into the C-4. But the device was ready. The IRA would have been proud of him, he thought to himself with a grim smile.

  He carefully stowed the re-wired gear back into his ops waistcoat. Stood up and skirted back round the burn pit and past the derelict incineration units. He headed back to the med centre and as he crossed over to the Portakabin he felt the stare of a small group of ANA soldiers standing in the shade of the centre’s entrance. He ignored them.

  Dexter was still asleep, his breathing steady. Tony removed his ops waistcoat and carefully stowed it behind his rucksack. He was just straightening up when the door opened. Holroyd entered. He looked around the Portakabin and his eyes fell on Dexter.

  ‘Been a long couple of days,’ Tony said. ‘He’s shagged. We all are. I mean . . . both of us.’

  Holroyd nodded curtly.

  ‘Just went for a slash,’ Tony said. ‘Those ANA boys by the med centre gave me the eye. Nasty atmospherics. They didn’t like one of their boys getting done by the dog. Sooner we’re out of here, the better.’

  ‘It’s in hand,’ Holroyd said. ‘Don’t you worry about it.’ His former chumminess had slipped. He seemed to realise this and gave Tony a fake smile. ‘I’ll catch up with you boys later.’

  He turned his back on Tony and left the Portakabin, closing the door firmly behind him.

  The Imam had told them that they needed to head north when they came to a roadside shrine. Danny had imagined some kind of religious statue. In fact, it was an ugly structure made up of old truck tyres, bound together with rags and sticks that poked up randomly into the air. A pile of sand had drifted up against one side. Danny pulled up alongside it and checked the time: 15.26 hours. Two and a half hours until sunset, when the Imam would ordinarily make the call to prayer. Everything had to be set up by then.

  The road was busier now. Rickety trucks and ancient saloon cars were passing in either direction. A full ten minutes passed before Danny could knock the engine back into gear and take the Hilux off road in the direction the terrified Imam indicated. The three occupants of the car spent that time in relative silence: the Imam muttering inaudibly under his breath, Danny and Caitlin examining the terrain to the north. It was undulating, which meant that once they had left the road, they would be reasonably well camouflaged. The ground was hard and cracked in places, but with patches of stone and boulder that Danny would have to negotiate. Principally, however, his attention was the low mountain range towards which they were heading. It formed a featureless brown ridge, approximately five miles distant. It wasn’t very high – a couple of thousand feet, max. Certainly not high enough to be snow-capped. But even from this distance Danny could see that the foothills were extensive and rocky. This was easy terrain to hide in, but difficult to cross.