Firefight

THIRTEEN

'I sure hope you know what you're doing, Lowther.'

Don Priestley sat in Pankhurst's comfortable office. It was four o'clock in the afternoon, and the C-17 Globemaster had only touched down at Brize Norton at 08.30 that morning. Pankhurst was tired, ratty and — though he would never have admitted it to his American counterpart — not at all sure that he knew what he was doing.

'I was there, Don,' he replied, impatiently. He rubbed his forehead with his fingers as the memory of Latifa Ahmed's cling-filmed mouth passed through his mind. He'd put a brave face on it in front of Jackson, but just the experience of watching it had been traumatic enough. The image wouldn't leave him. 'I watched the interrogation. Jackson was right — they weren't going to break her.'

Priestley raised an eyebrow. 'Maybe they would have had a better chance if your guy hadn't kicked them in the cojones.' He waved a piece of paper in the Director General's direction. 'They made their report already.'

Pankhurst sighed heavily in frustration. It was certainly true that Jackson's heroics hadn't helped matters; but then, maybe, if he hadn't intervened…

'They did it three times, Don. I've seen the same statistics as you. Even the most hardened terror suspects fold in a matter of seconds using your clever little technique.'

'It's not my technique, Lowther,' Priestley replied, seemingly a little abashed. 'The Japanese have been doing it for years. All I'm saying is, are you sure this Jackson character is the right guy to take it from here?'

'I wish he weren't. I don't like him. He's insubordinate and a loose cannon. But we've got to be pragmatic. Jackson and his team just whisked that woman away from under the noses of the Taliban. That's no mean feat. And he still wants Ahmed's head on a plate even more than we do.'

'I don't know about that,' Priestley murmured. 'You've seen the latest intel.'

'Enough to know it's close.' He stood up and looked out of his window.'Shit,' he swore suddenly and Priestley looked surprised to see an expletive leave Pankhurst's lips. 'Sometimes I think every man Jack on the streets knows more about Faisal Ahmed than we do. We've got chatter coming in from all sorts of unexpected quarters — just last night we took two Muslim teenagers into custody. They both admitted they knew the name Faisal Ahmed, that he was planning something. But that's all they knew.'

'You couldn't probe a little further?' Priestley asked, delicately.

'No,' Pankhurst insisted. 'Not with their lawyers sitting next to them. And we'd be airlifting planes full of them to Poland if we did it your way.'

'Like I say,' Priestley complained. 'It's not my way.'

'Whatever you say. All I know is I'm hearing the same rumours from everywhere. He's planning something soon, but no one knows where or when.'

'Where are they keeping the sister?'

'At the moment she's in protective custody in Paddington. News of her "arrest" should hit the wires in an hour so, then she's being moved to a safe house in the North Downs. Jackson's prepping it at the moment.' Pankhurst passed his hand over his eyes. 'I don't know when that man ever sleeps. Anyway, it's a location Ahmed knows — we used it to debrief him when he first arrived in the UK. Jackson thought that if we used a familiar site it would make it more likely that he would try a rescue attempt.'

Priestley looked dubious. 'It would also make it more likely that Ahmed succeeds. And actually having the woman there, on site, seems like madness to me. This is pretty highrisk, Lowther, if you don't mind me saying so.'

Pankhurst shrugged. 'Jackson's convinced that if Ahmed has any suspicion that his sister isn't really there, he'll abort. He says it's what he would do.'

'Can't you at least have some proper back-up? A cordon around the area — men nearby ready to go in if Ahmed does show his face?'

'How can I, Don? Five's compromised. If I mobilise everyone, I risk giving Ahmed a direct feed into everything that's going on.'

Priestley's eyes narrowed and he looked as if he was about to say something. In the end he seemed to decide against it, but he didn't look happy.

Pankhurst noticed that look. 'If you have a better plan, Don, I'm all ears.'

But Priestley, for all his criticism, clearly didn't. 'They've been instructed, I hope, to shoot to kill. If they give Ahmed a second's leeway—'

'Of course, Don. They're professionals. They know what to do.'

'Good,' the American nodded. 'You have a shortlist of Ahmed's possible targets in London?' he asked, though it sounded more like a statement of fact than a question.

'Of course — the usual suspects. Thames Barrier, Buckingham Palace, the London Eye, any of the bridges. Our people still think the Tube is his most likely target. Security levels have been raised, but you can't stop and search everybody that uses the Underground. God only knows how many casualties there'll be if he puts his mind to it down there — not to mention the fact that London will grind to a halt for months.'

There was a pause.

'Cities bounce back,' Priestley said, quietly. 'Look at New York.'

Pankhurst blinked. 'You won't be offended, I hope, if I fail to see much comfort in that notion.'

'Of course not, Lowther,' Priestley replied, his voice soft, reasonable. 'Of course not. But you know that if my country can do anything to help. Anything at all.'

Pankhurst turned around. He regretted having snapped at Priestley — they were on the same side, after all. 'Thank you, Don,' he replied. 'I understand your President has already made the same offer to the Prime Minister.'

'And if Will Jackson needs any back-up whatsoever — men, equipment. I'm sure he's well prepared, but the offer's there.'

Pankhurst rolled his eyes. 'You know what these SAS boys are like,' he said. 'They'd rather accept help from St Trinian's than Delta Force. Question of pride, I think.'

Priestley looked confused. 'St Trinian's?' he asked. 'Who are they?'

Pankhurst smiled tiredly. 'Never mind, Don,' he said. 'Never mind.'

Will looked up at the imposing building in front of him. About twenty miles south of London, nestled in the chalky North Downs of Surrey, two miles from the quaint market town of Dorking, Maple Hall was a large, deserted country house. Will had specified to Pankhurst on the flight back from Poland exactly what it was he wanted. Ideally, it should be somewhere Ahmed knew, because that would bolster his confidence, make it more likely he would try and spring Latifa. It needed to be somewhere fairly large, so that their Afghan terrorist would feel he had options when it came to devising an approach route. But there also needed to be space around the building, so that the SAS team could keep up a high level of surveillance. When Faisal Ahmed approached, they wanted to know about it.

From his satellite phone on board the plane, Pankhurst had come up trumps. Maple Hall was just right.

The spook who had driven Will and Kennedy there from Brize Norton had told him something about its history. During the Second World War it had been a regional centre of operations. After the war, it had become a barracks of sorts, a place for soldiers and special forces on training exercises in this part of the world. For the last fifteen years, however, it had been pretty much out of service, one of a number of MOD buildings that were kept on simply so that the Government had somewhere private and out of the way, should they ever need it. Ahmed had been debriefed here on his arrival in the UK. He wasn't the kind of guy anyone wanted strolling straight into Thames House, after all.

It was a grand building, imposingly square with a high, pitched roof. If a child were to draw a picture of a house, it would end up being a similar shape to Maple Hall. The high walls were a faded, crumbling yellow and each side of the house had four large, tall windows. The main door had once been painted red, but the paint was now peeling off; however, the window frames seemed sound. A straight road led up to the house, with neatly trimmed lawns. You'd be able to see anyone approaching from that direction; not that you would approach from there, if you wanted to do it surreptitiously.

Country roads ran along the west and south sides of the house; the remaining sides, as well as the areas beyond the roads, were densely forested and ran uphill to the east. Along the east side — the back of the house — there was a high fence, beyond which was a footpath that led uphill into the forest and the North Downs beyond. The two SAS men — Drew had been sent back to Credenhill with a shopping list for the armourer — walked around the house and recced the surroundings.

'When he finds out where we are,' Will said, almost to himself, as they walked round the house, 'he'll come at us from the woods.'

'How do you know it'll be just him?' Kennedy asked.

'Everything we know about him points to him being a loner. He'll be by himself.'

Kennedy shrugged. If you say so, he seemed to say. 'He'll definitely avoid the road,' he added. 'He'll know it's too easy for us to set up surveillance and he's not to know Five have decided not to give us any support.'

'They've got their reasons,' Will told him.

'I bet they fucking have,' Kennedy replied.

Will stonewalled him. He knew that Pankhurst's decision not to set up a cordon around the house was the right one. If MI5 had a mole feeding intel to Ahmed, that would be a sure-fire way of ensuring he knew their every move. Kennedy and Drew wouldn't see it like that, however.

Kennedy looked up at the walls of the house. 'We can set up motion-sensor alarms to cover the area surrounding the house. That way we'll know as soon as he makes his approach.'

Will looked up and narrowed his eyes. 'He'll be expecting that,' he said, distractedly. 'Means he'll come at us hard and fast. If you were him, how would you enter?'

Kennedy thought for a moment. 'Depends where I thought you were located,' he said. 'On the ground floor, then through the window of whichever room you're in. Tear gas, stun grenades, the works. NV if it's after dark.' He grinned. 'Three to one's not my kind of odds — I wouldn't want to come at you unless I had some pretty heavy weaponry.'

Will nodded. 'And if we were upstairs?'

Again Kennedy thought. 'Avoid the main entrance, obviously. You'd have the advantage of height and could take me out immediately. I guess I'd try to scale up to the roof then swing in through the window again.' He looked sharply at Will. 'But that takes time and with the motion sensors we'll be ready for him.'

Again Will nodded his head, more slowly this time. They started walking to the main door of the house. 'There's no way we can fool our target into thinking that this is anything other than a set-up. If he's as good as I'm told he is, he'll know where we are and how many of us there are. He'll know we're waiting for him.' He chewed absentmindedly on his lower lip. 'We can cover all his possible entry points and try and second-guess him as much as we can, but the one thing we need to prepare for is the one thing we can't predict.'

'What's that?'

Will sniffed. 'Well, I don't know… The unexpected, I guess. Ahmed's only chance of success is catching us unawares. We need to make sure he doesn't do that.'

They walked up into the house and continued the recce. Inside it was in reasonable repair, but it had the atmosphere of a place that had been deserted for a long time. There was a stale smell and the high-ceilinged rooms echoed in the way only places that have not been lived in for many years ever do. There were items of furniture here and there, but Will had the impression that they had been left only because nobody had bothered to take them away, not because they were intended to add anything to the general comfort of the house.

There was a large hallway at the end of which was a sweeping flight of stairs. To the right, off the hallway, was a large kitchen with a big open fireplace and a tiny electric stove — decades old — precariously connected to the house's ancient wiring. In the corner was a door which opened on to a flight of steps leading down into the basement. Will and Kennedy examined it, but the floor of the basement was knee-deep in water, so it was no place for them to camp out.

On the other side of the hallway, opposite the kitchen, was a huge room that went the entire length of the house. There were two massive windows looking out, but aside from an old sofa and a table that had seen better days, there was nothing in there.

The stairs led up to the first floor, which was divided into four rooms, each with large windows on the outside walls. A hallway divided them down the middle. They unanimously decided that the room on the north-eastern corner would be the most advantageous position for them to set up, as they would be able to maintain surveillance on the forested areas to the north and east. Offering a vast expanse of cover, these were the directions, they decided, from where Ahmed was most likely to come at them. The room was also opposite the bathroom — surprisingly small for the size of the house — which meant they didn't have to move far.

By the time they had made their decision, Drew had arrived with a van full of equipment. They talked him through their plans and he nodded with approval. Only when they had finished did he speak. 'If I were him I'd try to disable us using gas — CS, something non-lethal if his sister is in the same room.'

'You brought gas masks?'Will asked.

Drew nodded.

'Good.' He looked out of the window. 'We've only got a few hours of daylight left. Latifa Ahmed's being delivered to us in the morning, so let's get the motion sensors set up. Everything else we can do after nightfall.'

Drew and Kennedy nodded and without another word they went to work.

The UK has been placed on its highest level of terrorism alert. The government's decision to raise the threat level to 'critical' reflects concern that a terror attack is imminent over the Christmas period. Shoppers are being warned by police to be extra vigilant and to report any suspicious packages or individuals…

The television was on, as it always was. He sat in front of it, his back perfectly straight, a white vest covering the dark skin and well-defined muscles of his torso.

He seldom ventured outside; the risk was too high. He needed to keep a low profile. They would be looking for him and he was determined that they wouldn't find him through his own negligence.

During the day he kept the sound down on the television. He had no interest in the foolish banalities aimed at Western housewives with nothing better to do with their time. Really it was just to remind himself that there was a world outside this basement where he spent so many hours. But come evening and the news bulletins, he would listen carefully. He was listening carefully now. Listening and doing all he could to keep his breathing steady, despite what he heard.

An Afghan woman has been arrested following anti-terror raids in London. The woman, 35-year-old Latifa Ahmed, was arrested late last night on suspicion of the commission, preparation and instigation of acts of terrorism. She is currently in custody at an undisclosed location.

He stared at the television.

He blinked, slowly.

He looked at the grainy picture of his sister that filled the screen momentarily, before the news-reader moved on to another story.

And then Faisal Ahmed's lips thinned.

Latifa. In this country. Under arrest. For a moment he could not help feeling a sense of grudging respect for his enemy. This was clever. A way to flush him out. A lie, of course, but an elegant one. A chess move worthy of a grandmaster.

It was clear, of course, that the news bulletin was there for his own benefit. No doubt it would be repeated on every channel for the rest of the day. If he bought a newspaper tomorrow morning — which he seldom did — Latifa's face would be staring out of it. In this strange world of the West, where politicians send messages to their people over the airwaves, this was like a clarion call in a coded language. A language that only he could understand.

We have your sister, Faisal Ahmed, it said. And you know what will happen to her if you do not do as we say.

He felt a surge of love for Latifa. She alone knew the whereabouts of his hiding places. She alone in all the world could lead them to him. And yet she had not, just as he had trusted. But what horrors would they have inflicted on her to make her talk? A sudden, rampant hate burned inside him. This was not Latifa's war. She had done nothing to deserve it. How dare they? How dare they?

He took a deep breath. He had to remain calm if he was to do anything to help her. There would be further messages, of that he was sure. He just had to wait.

All night he sat in front of the television, without eating or sleeping. All night and all the following morning. The news didn't change; just the bare facts — if that's what you wanted to call them — of Latifa's arrest.

Only as the morning wore on was there something new.

Footage. A police van driving up to a large house. A woman being let out of the back. Her head was covered and she seemed to be having difficulty walking.

Faisal Ahmed suppressed a moment of blind rage. What had they done to her? What in the name of God had they done to her? They would pay. As Allah was his witness, they would pay for this!

He scrutinised the pictures closely. The camera followed Latifa as she was escorted to the front steps, then panned back — almost artistically in a way that would never happen for an ordinary news report — to show the place where she was being held.

He recognised it, of course. He recognised it just as they so obviously intended him to.

Here she is, they were saying. Here she is, if you think you have the skill and the courage to rescue her.

They knew he was planning something. They knew he would not just disappear into the night; not after what they had done. They knew he wanted revenge and they knew it would be bloody. Now they had played their best hand.

The news reporter spoke over the images.

Terror suspect Latifa Ahmed is being held under a control order while officers from Scotland Yard's anti-terror teams question her further.

The words decoded themselves in his brain even as he heard them: Your sister is here. We have her. The only way you can save her is by coming to get her yourself.

Instantly, Faisal Ahmed's brain started working overtime. Tactics. Scenarios. Latifa would be well guarded. Not so well guarded as to put him off a rescue attempt. But well guarded nevertheless.

They would have done their homework.

They would be waiting for him.

They would be sure that there was no way they could fail.

But there was a way. There had to be a way.

Faisal Ahmed's eyes narrowed. He kept perfectly calm as he considered his next move.

There was always a way.

The SAS team were waiting in the hallway of the house when Latifa arrived. She was walking — hobbling, really — and her hands were cuffed behind her back. A military cameraman was taking video footage of the outside of the house — obviously no real press were being allowed near — and Latifa was being accompanied by two grim-faced Met officers. The police officers handed her over, nodded a cursory greeting at Will as they gave him the keys to her handcuffs, then turned and left. Moments later the black prison van had gone, and there was nobody on the grounds other than Latifa and the three SAS men.

'Your feet are getting better,' Will observed.

Latifa didn't answer. She refused even to catch his eye.

'Can you walk up the stairs?'

She glanced in the direction of the staircase, then started walking towards it with obvious difficulty. Drew offered his arm, but she shrugged him off impatiently, so the three men simply watched helpless as, her hands still cuffed behind her back, she climbed the stairs. It took an age and was almost painful to watch.

They followed her upstairs and ushered her into the room they had prepared.

Latifa stopped at the door and looked around. 'This is to be my new prison?' she asked.

'We've tried to make it as comfortable as we could,' Will replied, gruffly, aware that he sounded ridiculous. The room looked more like a military control centre than anything else. At each of the huge windows were two tripods, one holding a set of ordinary binoculars, the other with a set of nightvision binoculars for after sunset. Leaning against one wall was a line of Heckler & Koch UMPs as well as three MP5s. The UMPs were chambered for larger cartridges with more effective stopping power; the MP5s had a longer range. Horses for courses. There were neat little piles of ammunition stacked up, as well as an array of gas masks and halogen torches. In the middle of the room was a table, on which sat a black box. A length of flex trailed from it across the floor and through a small, newly bored hole in one of the outside walls. A second length led from the box and out through another hole in the wall by the door. There was a laptop connected to a mobile phone and in one corner there was a small television set.

In another area a small gas stove and a kettle had been set up; next to these was a pile of provisions — tinned food, mainly, but also teabags, powdered milk, bars of chocolate and bottles of water. There were a couple of white, unmarked pill bottles containing ephedrine tablets — not unlike speed, regular issue in the Regiment and crucial if they found themselves getting tired during a watch.

Everything they needed while they watched and waited.

There were two beds in the room. 'That's yours,' Will told Latifa, pointing at one. Next to it was an armchair — old and threadbare, but the most comfortable one they could find. Latifa hobbled over to the chair and collapsed into it.

Will turned to Drew. 'Go and lock the front door,' he said. 'Surveillance starts now.'

Drew nodded and left the room.

'What is that?' Latifa asked. She was pointing at the black box.

Will walked to it and flicked a switch. 'An alarm,' he said. 'The house is surrounded by motion sensors. It's impossible to approach from any side without triggering them. The moment Ah — .' He paused. 'The moment your brother approaches, we'll know about it.'

'Unless he lands on the roof,' Kennedy drawled. 'But we're thinking we'll probably notice a Black Hawk hovering above us.'

Latifa looked contemptuously at him; he rolled his eyes, grabbed a UMP and took up position at one of the binoculars. Drew walked back in. 'All set,' he said.

Will turned to Latifa. 'We don't leave this room,' he told her. 'Not unless you need to use the toilet. When that happens, all three of us accompany you across the hallway to the bathroom. One of us comes in with you, the others wait outside.'

Latifa looked at him aghast. 'I refuse to—'

'I'm sorry, Latifa. We don't like it any more than you do, but there's no argument. There's a second alarm box outside the bathroom, so he won't catch us by surprise while you're — ' His voice trailed off and he looked over to the second bed. 'One of us will sleep while the other two keep watch. If the buzzer sounds, you'll be held at gunpoint by one of us. We don't want to hurt you, and we don't intend to, but if your brother sees you in that kind of danger it will make him hesitate. The other two will cover the windows and the door. Speaking of which—'Will pulled a length of string from around his neck on which hung a key. He went to the door, closed it firmly, then locked it from the inside.

'Make yourself comfortable, Latifa,' he said. 'We could be here for some time.'

'I would be more comfortable,' she said, 'if you were to remove these handcuffs.'

Will shook his head. 'I'm sorry,' he replied. 'I can't do that. I'll remove them at mealtimes, but after that they go back on.' Latifa turned her head away and he could see that she was holding back tears. 'It's not for much longer, Latifa,' he said, quietly. 'Your brother will be here soon.'

He looked out of the window to the dense forest beyond. It was stupid, but he couldn't get the image out of his head of Ahmed staring back at him. There were bigger things at stake here, Will knew that;but right then he had the unerring sensation that it was him against Ahmed. Man on man. A battle of wits, as well as strength.

Will breathed deeply, then turned back to Latifa.

'Your brother will be here very soon,' he said.