Rogue Predator (5 page)

Astonished and confused, Emil peered into Connor’s eyes. “Nathan? Nathan Connor?”

Connor ground his teeth and nodded. Even as boys they’d fought. He’d even once caught Emil stealing money from his father’s wallet. He didn’t trust the man standing before him further than he could throw him.

Emil threw up his arms. “All right, all right. Allah protect me, I’ll tell you, Nathan. Yes, the Taliban did come here. On the same night Hassan disappeared.”

“They took him?”

“No, Nathan. I think he ran away. I let slip that his father had been killed for collaborating with you Americans. The Taliban leader wanted the boy dead but I persuaded him to let him live. I said I needed his help here on the farm.”

“Then why did he run away?” Sparks asked, as confused as Connor was.

Emil diverted his eyes in shame. “They said they’d kill him on their return. The boy must’ve overheard.”

“Oh great!” Connor clenched his fist. “So he could be anywhere. Absolutely anywhere.”

As night fell Hassan was put to work serving food to the Taliban huddled around their campfires. He did what they asked. But he also listened to their plans; how the truck would be driven to within a few miles of Kandahar, and from there the drone would be controlled. He realised that they knew exactly when the American president would arrive and where he’d be during his visit.

It was after midnight before he managed to slip outside the cave. But before he could escape he heard footsteps. “Hassan?” It was Masud.

“Tell me about your family, Hassan, about your father. Is he one of us, too?” Masud had a tight hold of Hassan’s arm.

“He’s dead. He was a good man and I miss him.”

“Then you shall call me father. Come, it is late. Tomorrow I shall begin teaching you. But now you must sleep.”

Hassan had no choice. His escape would have to wait one more day.

The Black Hawk helicopter flew low and fast through the darkness. Using night-vision goggles the pilot climbed up the valley and hovered within metres of a narrow ledge. Connor and his team jumped out.

Delta Force’s insertion point was the valley next to their target. It reduced the chances of the Taliban hearing their helicopter approach. Quickly they made their way to a ridge above the base. Using infrared and thermal-imaging scopes attached to their helmets they scanned the scorpion-shaped valley beyond for signs of life. Up to this moment, Connor didn’t know if his team had correctly identified the Taliban base. But when he spotted two glowing specks — the body heat of Taliban lookouts — he knew they were in the right place. He sent Danny and Jacko to deal with them — silently.

“OK, Sam, you know what to do. Position yourself with a maximum field of fire,” said Connor.

Sam headed off, clutching his M110A1 semiautomatic 7.62mm sniper rifle.

Connor and the remainder of his team — Sparks and Ben — moved down the side of the valley. Each of them wore lightweight multihit body armour, and carried a modified M4 carbine. Connor’s had a visible laser marker, vertical forward grip, and quick detachable silencer. Sparks had gone for a tactical sight and silencer, while Ben opted for a shortened barrel and grenade launcher. It was five o’clock in the morning when they reached a gully close to the mouth of the valley. An hour later, Danny and Jacko rejoined them. Using their infrared scopes they could see beneath the rock overhang and make out the shapes of the Predator drone and truck. “Off you go, Sparks,” Connor whispered. “Ben, you go with him. We’ll cover you. Lay those explosive charges and set the timers for first light at precisely six forty-five.”

As Sparks and Ben crept off, Connor spoke into his tactical radio. “Command, this is Delta Force. Have located target bird. Party time is zero-sixfour- five. Please confirm air support, over.”

His radio crackled. “Roger that, Delta Force. Two DAP (Direct Action Penetrator) helicopter gunships will mop up and your evac will be by Black Hawk helicopter at previously agreed co-ordinates, over.”

Out of breath, Sparks returned twenty minutes later, Ben right on his heels. They rolled down into the gulley. “All set, sir.”

Hassan was determined to make his escape. But there was a problem. One of Masud’s men blocked the cave’s exit. Hassan despaired but the urge to flee was strong. He didn’t want to spend another day shooting at tin cans and learning how to blow people up.

It wasn’t until nearly six o’clock in the morning that finally the young Taliban fighter appeared to fall asleep. Hassan got up and tiptoed outside, carrying his blanket. At least it was still dark, he thought. And quiet too. He made his way to where the donkeys were tethered. He slung his few possessions onto the back of the beast that had given him the least trouble on his journey to the camp. He led it away, stopping to prod its backside with a stick every time its stubbornness returned. Hassan prayed to Allah to keep him safe as he followed a winding path that led to a deep gulley. If he could just reach the gulley, with any luck he’d be able to leave the valley unseen, even after dawn. As he walked, he couldn’t help but feel all shaky, hollow-bellied, and sick. One wrong move, the slightest sound, and he’d be dead.

Pressed huddled against the dirt wall of the gulley, Connor and his team readied themselves, clicking off their safety catches and flipping up their night-vision aids. Sparks studied the second hand of his watch. The first glimmers of dawn lit the sky. He counted down the seconds… Ten… Nine… Eight… “Sir, it’s time to party.”

Beneath the rock overhang the explosives detonated, blasting fragments of the drone more than two hundred metres, accompanied by twisted parts of the Taliban’s truck. Connor issued the order to attack.

Rising up, he strained to see through the billowing clouds of dust, but as the air cleared the entrances to the nearby caves came into view. Taliban fighters streamed out of them like termites from a nest. Connor took aim and fired in short bursts. Danny Crow began shooting grenades from his modified rifle. From his elevated position higher up the side of the valley, Sam picked off the enemy, his double taps — two quick shots in a row — were deadly accurate.

Within thirty seconds the mayhem was joined by the rhythmical thwacking of helicopter rotor blades as two MH-60L DAP gunships flew in low and fast from the plain. Rockets streamed from their wing pods, and tracer fire flashed from their side-mounted miniguns. The valley was set alight with blinding and deafening explosions.

“Mission accomplished,” Connor shouted. “Start our withdrawal.” Into his radio he bellowed, “Sam, get your butt down to the evac co-ordinates, over.”

“Roger that, Major. I have a visual on our helo. ETA touchdown in one minute, over.”

A blast threw Hassan onto his belly. Dazed, he struggled to his feet while bullets fizzed past him. His donkey had bolted and Hassan knew he would have to catch the beast — he’d never escape without it. So he ran into the darkness, pumping his arms and forcing his legs to go faster.

Dust and smoke blew into the gulley like a sandstorm, and Hassan was quickly disorientated. But still he ran — and almost died of fright when he clattered into a figure crouching low. Hassan simply didn’t see him.

“Hassan, there you are.”

Blood oozed from a wound on Masud’s shoulder, but the Taliban leader still managed to grab Hassan’s arm tightly. He grinned toothlessly. “Come, boy, I know another way out of here.”

“No!” Hassan shrieked as he tried to break free.

“Don’t be afraid, little Hassan. You and I shall live to fight another day. Come with me, now, and don’t cry out. Come, come, there’s very little time.”

“Helo’s touching down, sir,” Ben shouted. “Time to evac.”

Connor had covered his men’s withdrawal, but was now staring into the grey-brown dust clouds filling the gulley. He could hear something odd. And it was coming towards him — fast. Snatching his rifle to his shoulder he took aim. “Get going, Ben, I’ll be right behind you.”

Connor’s finger caressed the trigger and then began to squeeze it as the shape emerged from the swirling blur and he recalled one of the best pieces of advice he’d ever been given — never, ever, trust an Afghan donkey.

The Taliban had many tricks, most learned during the mujahedin’s victory against the Russians back in the 1980s. A donkey laden with explosives was a favourite. Send it among the enemy and detonate it by remote control. Connor didn’t need to think twice. He drilled the beast with bullets.

As the donkey fell and rolled onto its back, the string broke and a goatskin filled with water burst. The rolled-up blanket unfurled and its contents spilled out. Connor saw a glint of something and was puzzled. Surely it couldn’t be what he thought it was.

Cautiously, he approached the dead donkey. He grabbed up a pair of bloodstained US Army dog tags, and examined them. He could just make out a name — Brad Somersby. Connor remembered seeing that name on the memorial back at Camp Delta. Brad had been part of Halo Forward Patrol. But what were his dog tags doing here? Connor knelt down to pick something else up: a piece of folded paper from a school book that had been inside the blanket. He opened it up and stared at it. A hand-drawn map showed the route all the way from Emil’s farm. On the other side was some school work from a pupil named Hassan Aziz. Connor stood up abruptly and gazed around. “Hassan…? Hassan! Where are you?”

Ben appeared at his shoulder. “Sir, we’ve gotta go. Our helo won’t wait any longer.”

“Goddamn it… Hassan!” Connor yelled. He made a snap decision and headed off.

Ben caught him up. “Sir, where the hell are you going? … We must leave. Now!”

Reluctantly, Connor stopped then turned back. But as he headed for the waiting helicopter, one thought occupied his mind —
Hassan, I will find you.