Firefight (23 page)

'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.

Faisal Ahmed was pleased it was cold. It meant he could
wear a woollen hat - and so disguise his features to an
extent - without attracting attention.

What would have attracted more attention, of course, was
the contents of his rucksack. An MP5 with a laser-sight
attachment, NV goggles and telescope, a small pouch of
explosives and various other bits of kit that he had carefully
packed before leaving his safe house, no doubt never
to return. He had used a couple of notes from his wallet
full of cash to buy a ticket and now he was sitting by the
window as the train sped towards King's Cross. His rucksack
was on the shelf above him, along with the suitcases
and laptop bags of the other passengers on this crowded
service. Next to him, a fat man drank noisily from a beer
can, despite the fact it was only noon. As the train slowed
down into a station, he stood up and pulled his bag from
the shelf where it had been nestled next to Ahmed's.

His rucksack looked precarious for a moment, as if it might
fall. Ahmed sprang up, knocking the fat man out of the way.

'What the fuck?' the fat man spat.

Ahmed steadied the rucksack, then turned to look at him.
The man seemed furious, red-faced. He pushed his great bulk
against Ahmed's body, clearly spoiling for a fight. But Ahmed
did not want a fight. Not here. He bowed his head. 'I apologise,'
he said, meekly. 'That was extremely rude of me.'

The fat man huffed at him, but the wind had been taken
out of his sails by Ahmed's swift apology. He grabbed his
bag and waddled to the door.

At King's Cross Ahmed made sure he was always in the
middle of the crowd as he made his way to the underground
and bought himself a ticket to Waterloo. Once there,
he consulted the timetables. Of course, he would not be
taking a train to the station nearest the house; he would
get within a certain radius and walk the rest. Nor would
he take a direct route. It needed to be circuitous, to give
him a better chance of shaking off any surveillance.

He worked out his route and memorised it instantly. It
was good. It would get him there at eight o'clock that
evening. That meant he would be approaching under cover
of night. It would take three or four hours to get there;
then he would be able to work out a strategy.

Keeping his head facing down towards the ground so
that he avoided the glare of any CCTV, he bought himself
a ticket. The first train was already waiting on the platform,
so he found the emptiest carriage, took a seat and waited
for it to move away.

*

The day passed slowly.

Latifa did not speak a word and the SAS men were similarly
silent. The television was on in the corner, but the
sound was turned down and none of them were really
paying attention to the flicker of images. The three soldiers
wore their gas masks, but Latifa had refused hers and nothing
they could say could persuade her otherwise. Will had taken
first watch with Drew, while Kennedy slept. At lunchtime
the men had eaten tins of stew heated on the stove; Latifa
refused it, choosing to accept only a few sips of water. At
about three o'clock, she asked to use the toilet. Will nodded,
woke Drew who was by now sleeping on the bed, and the
three of them - UMPs at the ready - escorted her to the
bathroom. Kennedy and Drew stood guard in the hallway,
while Will took her inside. He kept his back to her while
she did what she needed to do. When he heard the flushing
of the chain he turned around. Clearly humiliated by the
circumstances, she would not meet his eye.

At 19.00 hours it was his turn to get some rest. Drew
and Kennedy switched on the NV binoculars and kept
watch over the encroaching gloom. As he lay on the bed,
Will's mind was turning over; but he was dog tired and he
soon fell asleep.

Kennedy woke him at midnight. He sat up immediately
and it took a moment for him to remember where he was.
Latifa was still awake, still sitting in the chair, her arms
fastened tightly behind her back.

'You should try and sleep,' he told her.

'Sleep?' she asked him, one eyebrow raised. 'How could
I possibly go to sleep?'

Will shrugged, grabbed a bar of chocolate, then took up
his position. He had another eight hours of surveillance
ahead of him and he had to keep on the ball.

*

The luminous dial of Faisal Ahmed's hand-held compass glowed
dimly in the darkness. On the train he had memorised his
Ordnance Survey map of the region so there was no need for
him to consult it by torchlight. By his reckoning, the house
would be approximately 200 metres south of here. He moved
stealthily through the forest and, sure enough, a minute later
he saw a bright yellow light shining through the trees.

He stopped, gently laid his rucksack on the ground and
removed his NV telescope. The trees ahead of him were distinguished
in the hazy green light, and the glow from the upstairs
room burned too brightly for him to look at it. But that was
OK.There were other things he needed to look for first. They
would have set up some kind of early-warning system. A tripwire
around the property was possible, but unlikely - too
difficult to set up and too easy for wild animals to set off.
No, if he were in their shoes he'd do something else.

It didn't take him long to locate the motion-sensor boxes
spaced at regular intervals along the wall. No doubt they
would have been set up all around the house, ready to alert
the men inside the moment he approached. He moved his
sights up to the roof. That was the obvious way to approach,
but it was impossible.

He'd have to think of something else; but for now, he
needed to keep behind the tree line.

He packed the NV telescope away and pulled out a set
of ordinary binoculars. He could see one man at the window,
also looking through binoculars. One very accurate shot and
maybe he could kill him from here. But it was high risk and
taking out just one of them would do him no good at all.

He lowered his binoculars, sat down against the trunk of
a tree, closed his eyes and thought.

Gradually a strategy started to form in his head. He
considered it slowly, meticulously, making a mental list of
its weak points and judging whether the risks they posed
were acceptable.

Eventually, he was satisfied. But he needed some equipment
and that meant hiking to a nearby town.

Faisal Ahmed spent five minutes locating a hollowed-out
tree trunk where he could store his rucksack; then, without
hesitation, he started retracing his steps out of the forest. If
he could get what he needed that morning, he would be
back in situ by the afternoon.

Which meant that he could put his plan into operation
as soon as it was dark again.

*

'I think perhaps you have misjudged my brother,' Latifa
Ahmed said, quietly. The sun was just beginning to rise and
nobody had spoken for hours.

Will turned to her. She looked desperately tired.
Desperately anxious. But still she had the same fierce determination
in her eyes.

'He was never going to just walk up and knock on the
door, Latifa,' he replied, quietly.

She shrugged, but her attempt to look nonchalant was
not successful.

'You should eat something,' Will told her. He left his post
at the tripod and walked over to where the food was stashed.
'There's bread, I think. I could uncuff you for a while.'

For a moment she looked as if she was going to refuse
again; but at the last minute she nodded, her wide eyes
brimming once more with tears.

'Stand up,' Will told her, gently. He was glad it was
Kennedy who was asleep at that moment. He could do
without the sarcastic comments. Latifa did as she was told
and Will undid her cuffs. She stretched out her arms in
front of her, then hungrily devoured the slice of white
bread Will offered, and then another.

'You really think he will come?' she asked Will.

He hesitated, aware that Drew was watching him intently.
'Do you?' he asked her.

Slowly, Latifa nodded her head. She gazed out of the
window. 'He will come,' she whispered. Then she turned
back to Will. 'You saved my life,' she said. 'Twice. When
Faisal arrives, I will ask him not to kill you.'

Will blinked as her words sank in. Was she saying that
just to reassure herself? But then why did she sound so
confident?

'I need to cuff you again,' he said.

Latifa nodded, then obediently put her hands behind her
back, her head bowed.

'Perhaps you should try to sleep, Latifa,' he said.

'Perhaps,' she replied quietly. 'Perhaps.'

*

He walked into the toy shop at two minutes past nine. The
man behind the counter was reading a newspaper and didn't
notice him until he was a metre away.

'Oh, excuse me, sir. You made me jump.' He was a jollylooking
man, elderly, with a white moustache and twinkling
blue eyes.

'I'm terribly sorry,' Ahmed replied, making sure his voice
betrayed no hint of an accent.

'What can I do for you, anyway?'

Ahmed smiled. He knew his face looked appealing and
open when he did so. 'I would like to buy a gift for my
nephew,' he said, smoothly. 'He has asked Santa for a remotecontrolled
car.'

The man nodded pleasantly, as if this were a request he
often received and he was happy to oblige. 'There are three
or four to choose from,' he said, walking out into the main
area of the shop before returning with an armful of boxes.
He spread them out on the counter.

Faisal Ahmed examined them. He was not interested in
their size, shape or colour; he was not interested in their
price. Instead, he scrutinised the technical specifications on
the side of each box.

'I think my nephew will enjoy this one,' he announced
brightly.

One minute later he was walking out with his new purchase.

His next stop was a builder's merchants, a large, anonymous
superstore where he did not have to speak to anyone.

Here he bought himself an aerosol can of insulating foam.

The final item on his shopping list would be more difficult
to come by; certainly he would be unlikely to find it
in a shop. Instead, he headed to an Internet café. A quick
search gave him a list of names of local doctors and a few
minutes later he had located their addresses on the electoral
register. He checked an online map and memorised
their locations immediately.

Forty-five minutes later he was outside the first address. It
only took him a couple of minutes to establish that there was
someone home, so he moved on to the next house on his list.
This one looked more hopeful.

There was an alleyway around the back. Checking that
he wasn't being watched, he disappeared down it and
moments later was climbing over a high fence into the back
garden of the house. He surveyed the place from the bottom
of the garden. Still no sign of life. He decided to proceed.
In his pocket was a leather pouch of metal instruments.

He brought it out as he approached the back door and
about thirty seconds later he had picked the lock. Once
inside the kitchen, he stopped and listened.

Silence.

Then he began to search the house.

He worked quietly and neatly, not disturbing anything he
came across. The jewellery was easy to find, but he left that.
In the small home office there was a safe bolted to the floor.
Easily opened, but it didn't interest him. This was the house
of a doctor and it was a doctor's implement he required.

He found what he needed after about ten minutes, hidden
away in a drawer in a spare room upstairs. It was an old stethoscope,
but it still worked. It would be fine for his purposes.

Ahmed put it in the bag with the car and the builder's
foam, carefully shut the drawer, then slipped downstairs. He
left by the same route he had arrived and he used his metal
tools to lock the kitchen door again. He felt confident that
nobody would ever know he had been there.

His shopping list complete, Faisal Ahmed stealthily climbed
over the garden fence and walked out into the street.

Two hours and thirty minutes later he was on the edge
of the forest. There were a few houses dotted around and
he knew that somewhere here he would be able to find
the final thing he needed to execute his plan.

Sure enough, walking along the garden wall of a house
which backed on to the forest, there was a domestic cat. It
was a shaggy ginger Tom and it eyed Faisal Ahmed warily.

Ahmed stayed perfectly still.

The cat took a few steps nearer.

When Ahmed's hands flashed out to grab the animal, he
did so with an uncanny speed and accuracy. The cat hissed
and tried to get away, but Ahmed's grip was too firm. He
held the animal under the arm that was holding his bag
and with his spare hand clamped its jaws tight shut.
Immediately he headed to the forest.

It took another forty-five minutes for him to reach the
tree where his rucksack was being held. He would have to
let the cat meow for a short time while he packed his
purchases into the rucksack and hoisted it onto his back.
When that was done, however, he clamped its jaws shut once
more.

Then he sat and waited until nightfall.

*

The second night of surveillance. It seemed unnaturally
quiet out there, as though the whole forest were holding
its breath. Waiting for something to happen.

Drew was sleeping and so, finally, was Latifa. Kennedy
coughed and Will turned sharply towards him. His colleague
held up his hands. 'Don't shoot!' he grinned, before turning
back to continue his surveillance. Will took a deep breath
and went back to scanning the area for movement.

'He's out there, isn't he?' Kennedy said after a minute or
so, his voice more serious now. 'He's out there somewhere.'

Will's expression remained emotionless. 'Yeah,' he said.
'He's out there somewhere.'