Firefight

FIFTEEN

Sixty seconds.

That was how long Faisal Ahmed gave it to allow whoever was heading down to the fuse box to get there.

He silently stood up on the ceiling joist, holding on to the top of the rope with one hand, clutching his MP5 with the other. A flick of a switch and his NV goggles powered up. Everything around him became suffused in a grainy green light. Looking down, he saw the area of the ceiling that he had scored and weakened.

And then he jumped. The ceiling plaster shattered everywhere as he crashed through into the room below. As soon as he felt the rope tighten, he started to slide down it, looking around to take in everything in the room. Latifa was in the corner, sitting in a chair: she looked around blindly in the darkness. Next to her was a man with a weapon. The gun had clearly been aimed at his sister's head, but now the man was in the process of swinging it round in Ahmed's direction.

Ahmed acted without hesitation. The laser sight illuminated its target and a single head shot was all it took to put the man to the floor.

On the other side of the room was the second man. He too seemed only to have the vaguest sense in the darkness of where Ahmed was. The second shot from the MP5 hit him in the shoulder and threw him against the wall; the third was more accurate and finished him off.

By the time Faisal Ahmed hit the floor, both of Latifa's guards lay dead.

He had to move quickly. The third man would have been alerted to his presence by the sound of gunfire and even now would be hurtling up the stairs.

'Faisal?' he heard Latifa say. Her voice was terrified.

'Did they hurt you?' he asked in their native Pashto.

'No,' she replied. 'But I cannot walk easily.'

Still holding the rope, Ahmed strode over to her and, with one swift movement, grabbed her around the waist and slung her over his shoulders.

As he did so, there was a banging on the door. 'Drew!' a voice called. 'Kennedy! Unlock it! Let me in!'

Calmly, Ahmed aimed his MP5 at the door. The weapon was powerful enough to burst through the wood and take out his final enemy.

'No!' Latifa hissed. 'Do not shoot him.'

'What do you mean?'

'I owe that man my life, Faisal. Do not shoot him.'

Faisal Ahmed had never been able to deny his sister; against his better judgement he hurried to the window. A burst of fire from the MP5 shattered the panes and a swipe of his arm cleared the fragmented glass from the edges. There was a sound of heavy gunshots from behind him as the man on the other side of the door started to shoot it through — it made Latifa gasp, but Faisal Ahmed remained coldly calm. There was plenty of rope left and they'd be out of here in seconds. He heaved himself and his sister through the window, then ignored the feel of the rope burning into his free hand as the two of them slid down to the ground.

There was nothing he could do to make the rope useless to his pursuer and he momentarily cursed himself for honouring his sister's request. But it was too late now. All he could do was run.

Will crashed through the door, a sick feeling running through every part of his body. The moment he was in the room he flashed the torch all around. The light fell first on Kennedy's body: the SAS man's face was an unrecognisable mess of blood and bone. 'Jesus,' Will whispered, before hunting out Drew. The third of their little unit was slumped half against the wall and even in the semi-darkness Will could see his blood still gushing from his gaping head wound.

And Latifa was nowhere to be seen.

As he stood there, his mind clamouring with shocked alarm, he became aware of the hole in the ceiling and the rope trailing from the joists and out of the window. How long had Faisal Ahmed been up there? he wondered. And then it all became clear to him, how he had fooled them. He must have been waiting for his moment for at least twenty-four hours.

The shame of being outwitted and the anger at losing Drew and Kennedy spurred him into action. Ahmed had Latifa. He couldn't move quickly with her, so Will could still make chase. Running to the window, he grabbed the rope and slipped down to the ground, then stopped to listen. Sure enough, there was a rustling up ahead, eastwards, in the forest. UMP in hand, he followed the noise.

Seconds later he was beyond the boundary of the house and standing on the path that led away from it. He heard footsteps in the distance — it sounded like someone running, and Will didn't have the impression that they were crashing through foliage. Ahmed was taking the easy escape route — he had to, if he was carrying Latifa.

Will started to run up the path. The ground was soft and yet strangely knobbly and treacherous, thanks to the granitelike pebbles that were strewn all over the place. As Will ran, he shone the torch to the left and right, keeping an eye out for any areas where it looked as though Ahmed may have veered away from the path; then he realised he was making a target of himself, a target that no one could miss. He switched off the torch and continued in the darkness.

He moved with caution, but the nature of the terrain was such that Ahmed could have been hidden behind any of the trees that lined his route. Something told him — intuition — that he wasn't. It would have been the easiest thing in the world for the bastard to wait in the room and nail Will when he crashed through the door. But he hadn't. Will didn't know why, but he gambled that if he wasn't prepared to stop and shoot him then, he wouldn't be now. Still, he trod lightly. Every now and then he would stop and hold his breath so that the sound did not interfere with his hearing. Each time he did, he heard the steps up ahead. Was it his imagination or were they getting closer? Was he gaining on him? Will gripped his weapon a little harder and continued pushing uphill.

Suddenly he stopped.

It caught him in the eye first, the little red light. Momentarily it disappeared, but then he looked down and saw it on his chest. He knew what it meant, of course — that someone had their laser sight firmly fixed on him. And it was perfectly obvious who that someone was.

'You have ten seconds,' a voice called from somewhere in the darkness beyond, 'to discharge your weapon into the ground and throw it into the trees. Any longer and I'll shoot.'

Will hesitated. For a moment he considered a random burst of fire from the UMP, but he dismissed the notion almost as soon as it came into his head. Ahmed had already nailed Drew and Kennedy; the fact that Will was alive was a miracle.

As if in response to that thought, the voice spoke again. 'My sister asked me not to kill you,' it stated, flatly. 'That's the only reason you're still alive. But you will be dead in three seconds' time if you do not do as I say.'

Will scowled, but he knew there was no option. He lowered his weapon and discharged it fully into the ground. Then he hurled it to one side into the woods.

'Put your hands behind your back,' the voice called.

Will did as he was told.

'If I see your hands or you make any sudden move, then I shoot. Do you understand?'

Will stared straight ahead, but then became aware of the little red dot moving up to his face. 'Do you understand?'

'I understand,' he said, flatly.

There was a pause. Everything around seemed still and Will began to wonder if Ahmed had silently continued his escape. Maybe he should give chase.

But then, slowly, a figure emerged out of the darkness.

Faisal Ahmed looked different from the picture Will had seen in Lowther Pankhurst's office. Even in the midnight gloom the dark rings under his eyes were visible and his beard was less well groomed. But it was unmistakably him and Will couldn't help but stare and scowl.

When Ahmed was only a few metres away, he stopped; but he kept his gun trained on Will. 'My sister tells me you saved her life,' Ahmed said, softly. His voice was almost gentle and, unlike Latifa, he had no hint of an accent. 'For that, I thank you.'

Will's eyes narrowed. 'You just killed two of my men,' he retorted. 'Forgive me if I don't come over and shake your hand.'

'I would not recommend doing anything with your hands,' Ahmed reminded him. 'I meant what I said. As for your men, they were, presumably, instructed to shoot me on sight?'

Will felt his cheek twitch momentarily.

'I thought so,' Ahmed said, almost pensively. 'They were soldiers too. I am sorry for their deaths, but if it wasn't them it would have been me. I'm sure they would understand.'

'I wouldn't bet on it, Ahmed,' Will said with distaste. 'They weren't the ones planning to kill thousands of people.'

'I beg your pardon?'

'Don't try and play dumb with me, Ahmed. We know the score. We are going to stop you.'

Ahmed raised his gun slightly. 'Stop me doing what?' he demanded. 'Tell me immediately or I shoot.'

'A terrorist hit. On the capital.'

For a moment, Ahmed's face remained emotionless; then he smiled. But it wasn't a smile of pleasure, it was a smile of understanding, as if something that had previously been unclear to him had suddenly been revealed.

'I see,' he replied quietly. 'So that is what they have been telling you.'

'Yeah,' Will spat. 'And it's not the only thing either.'

'That is not a surprise,' Ahmed replied, before pausing. 'My sister tells me you are a man to be trusted. Is this true, Will Jackson? Are you a man to be trusted?'

'That depends who you are,' Will replied, flatly.

Ahmed nodded his head and seemed to be considering something. Finally he spoke. 'It isn't true, of course,' he said. 'What they have told you. But you are an intelligent man. No doubt you suspected that already.'

'Not really,' Will told him. 'The intel seems pretty clear.'

Ahmed smiled again. 'Intelligence,' he almost purred. 'It is an interesting thing. It is amazing how often people can be made to believe a lie in the name of intelligence. Take my sister, for example. The whole of this country now believes she is a wicked Afghan terrorist, but you and I know that is not the truth. What you have been told about me is not the truth, either.'

'Enlighten me,' Will said, unable to stop himself sounding dismissive.

'I will,' Ahmed replied, oblivious to the contempt in Will's voice or at least hardened to it. 'You have risked your life to save my sister, it seems. You at least deserve to know why. My guess is that you have been manipulated just as I have. Sometimes we think we are knights when in fact we are merely pawns. I would guess that you are familiar with some of my history already — that I was trained by the Americans to be a mole for them within the network of al-Qaeda in Afghanistan. That I was discovered and made my way back to England.'

Will continued to look balefully at him.

Ahmed inclined his head. 'My American handlers instructed me to start working for MI5, infiltrating terrorist groups in the UK and alerting the authorities to potential strikes. I was, I should tell you, extremely successful.'

'You're not telling me anything I don't know already, Ahmed.'

'Not yet, perhaps. What I think you are unlikely to know is that my orders changed.'

'What are you talking about?'

'I was instructed by the CIA to go dark.' His face became pinched. 'They had a new policy, they told me. One that they hoped would save lives.'

Ahmed paused. Will had the impression that the Afghan was scanning his face for signs of doubt.

'My new instructions were these. To instigate a series of low-level terrorist strikes across the UK. No catastrophes, no deaths. I was to do it through my network of al-Qaeda sympathisers. The Americans believed that if the British saw that the terrorist threat on their streets was real, it would keep them on-message — more likely to do the Americans' bidding whenever they came asking for help.'

Will blinked. 'You're trying to tell me that your terrorist campaign was started by the CIA?'

'Of course,' Ahmed replied.

'That's ridiculous. I don't believe you.'

Ahmed shrugged. 'I cannot control what you believe,' he said. 'Nevertheless, it is the truth. The man who sent you to kill me, his name is Donald Priestley, is it not?'

Priestley. The image of the friendly, almost avuncular American CIA official flitted through Will's head. 'How did you know that?'

Ahmed nodded. 'It was Donald Priestley that I reported to. It was all Donald Priestley's idea. He called what we were doing Operation Firefight.' He sneered. 'Because we had to fight fire with fire. A favourite saying of his.'

Will remained silent.

'Of course, MI5's intelligence network is impressive. We always knew that they would realise I was involved in these strikes, but Priestley had the confidence of somebody high up in the British intelligence services. Every time MI5 came close to discovering my location, I was tipped off by the CIA. I did the Americans' bidding for three years and they were, I think, pleased with my success rate. Casualties were low, but the profile of my attacks was high.'

Casualties were low. The very words felt like darts being hurled into Will's body. Not low enough, you bastard, he felt like saying. 'If they were so pleased with you,' he managed to ask, 'why the hell would they want me to put a bullet in your head?'

'Operation Firefight was successful,' Ahmed said. 'Maybe too successful. The British became anxious. They became the Americans' poodles and that suited the US very well. Priestley wanted me to take things further. Up a level. He wanted deaths in the UK. Collateral damage, he called it. A loss of life here to save greater loss of life elsewhere. But these would be innocent civilian lives. I refused to do his bidding. The very next day my cover was blown by the CIA. The terrorist cells I was working with found out the truth about me. I had to run. Hide.'

As Faisal Ahmed spoke, Will's mind spun around in circles. He did not want to believe it; he didn't want to believe anything that came from this man's mouth. Yet Will couldn't for the life of him understand why Ahmed would feel the need for this sudden confession and he couldn't shake off the sensation that pieces of a jigsaw were fitting together.

Yet there were still anomalies. Things that didn't make sense. 'There are other sources,' Will said. 'Independent sources from abroad. They all say the same thing: that you're planning a major terrorist strike.'

Ahmed looked contemptuous. 'More intelligence?' he asked. 'Tell me, was this so-called intelligence by any chance extorted from extremist sympathisers? Were they taken to an American black camp to have information tortured out of them?'

Will didn't reply.

'It's how they work,' Ahmed continued. 'The CIA leak information to unsuspecting sympathisers; they then extract it under duress from their victim in front of their British allies. Even the source doesn't know he's misleading his interrogators — he thinks he's having the information coerced out of him. Trust me, they've been doing this for years. I know, because they taught me how to do it. And whatever you have been told about me instigating a major civilian terrorist strike is a lie. I have turned my back on it. My plan is much more simple.'

'What do you mean?'

'I intend to stop Donald Priestley and the Americans from continuing their policy of death.'

'How?'

Ahmed didn't answer.

'Where's Latifa?'Will pressed.

Ahmed shook his head. 'Latifa is no longer your concern. Nor am I. I don't expect you to take my word for everything, but I'm sure when you confront Priestley you will see that I am telling the truth. No doubt you have been taught, as have I, to tell when somebody is lying.' He made a flicking gesture with his gun. 'Turn around,' he said. 'And walk away.'

Will didn't move. Ahmed's face became suddenly more ruthless.

'I mean it, soldier,' he said. 'Move away or I'll shoot.'

'Not yet,' Will whispered. 'There's part of your story that you left out.'

'What are you talking about?'

'Operation Firefight, or whatever the hell you want to call it, wasn't entirely without casualties, was it? What about the bomb in Knightsbridge? Outside the department store? The one that killed a woman and her daughter?'

Ahmed's face remained stony. 'A mistake,' he said, flatly. 'An extremely unfortunate one. The device was not meant to explode in that location. It wasn't part of my plan.'

'I don't care if it was part of your plan or not, Ahmed,' Will whispered. 'The people who died that day were my wife and daughter, and you killed them.'

Faisal Ahmed's eyes widened slightly as some of his smug omniscience seemed to be knocked out of him.

'You might as well kill me now, Ahmed, because I swear to God I couldn't give a shit what excuses and lies you throw in my path. You murdered my family and I will not rest until I've avenged them. I will not rest until you are dead, just like them.'

'I am sorry for your loss, Will Jackson,' Ahmed said. 'Truly sorry. I know what it is to lose one's family. But you would be wise, my friend, not to follow this course. I think it has been shown that I am the better soldier. That I have the better mind. And anyway, if you kill me, another person will take my place. Is it not better to target the real criminal behind this? That is what I intend to do and you would be well advised to leave me alone to do it.'

He raised the laser sight to Will's head once again.

'Turn around,' he repeated, 'and walk away.'

The eyes of the two men were locked. For a moment Will considered disobedience, but a stronger instinct kicked in. Faisal Ahmed had already shot two people tonight; he wouldn't hesitate to make it a third. And if that happened, he would never pay for what he did to Will's family.

In an instant, Will drank in every feature of Ahmed's face. He wanted to be sure that he would recognise it again without even thinking. Then, slowly, he turned his back on the Afghan and started walking.

One pace.

Two paces.

Three paces.

He was several metres away when he heard Ahmed's voice again. More distant this time, but with a strange sense of urgency.

'Make no mistake about it,' Faisal Ahmed called. 'I have no quarrel with you. But if you interfere with what I have to do, it is I who will kill you.'

Will stopped, then turned. The path ahead of him disappeared into the darkness.

Faisal Ahmed was nowhere to be seen.