Spider Shepherd 11 - White Lies (19 page)

There were fifteen men already sitting in the room when the brigadier walked in and made his way to the podium, an aide-de-camp hard on his heels carrying two metal briefcases. The seated men sprang to their feet and saluted. The brigadier threw them back a half-hearted salute but avoided eye contact.

The aide-de-camp opened one of the briefcases and began attaching photographs to the whiteboard, including pictures of a desert fort along with a head-and-shoulder shot of Raj and another of an Arab man that Shepherd didn’t recognise.

Kassar nodded at Shepherd and took him up to the podium, where he introduced him to the brigadier. ‘This is Dan Shepherd, from England,’ said Kassar. Shepherd wasn’t sure how to acknowledge the brigadier but decided to go with a salute and not a handshake. The brigadier returned the salute, again half-heartedly. Shepherd could smell the man’s cologne, sickly sweet with an orangey undertone.

‘You are SAS, I gather,’ said the brigadier. He had a clipped upper-class accent that suggested a spell at Sandhurst, the Royal Military Academy.

‘Former SAS,’ said Shepherd. He pointed at the photograph of Raj. ‘I worked with Manraj Chaudhry two years ago.’

‘Well, I hope we can get him back for you,’ said the brigadier. ‘You are familiar with the area where he is being held?’

‘I have looked at the geography but I have never been there,’ said Shepherd. ‘I was in Afghanistan for several tours.’

The brigadier pointed his swagger stick at the map. ‘Waziristan,’ he said, in clipped tones. ‘Just under twelve thousand square kilometres consisting of the area west and south-west of Peshawar between the Tochi river to the north and the Gomal river to the south. I don’t know how aware you are of the political situation in the area but it is an area within what we call FATA, the Federally Administered Tribal Areas.’

‘I’ve heard of FATA, of course,’ said Shepherd. He had also heard that the Taliban pretty much controlled the territory and that the Pakistan army pretty much treated it as a no-go area.

The brigadier tapped the point of his swagger stick at a place called Parachinar, which was at the apex of a triangle of Pakistani territory sticking into Afghanistan. ‘There is a fort here, very close to the border,’ he said.

‘What sort of assault is planned?’ asked Shepherd.

The brigadier’s eyes narrowed. ‘I will explain that during the briefing,’ he said, and turned his back on Shepherd to watch his aide-de-camp affix more photographs to the whiteboard.

Kassar nodded for Shepherd to move away and they went to sit down in the front row. More troopers were filing into the room and sitting down. ‘He seems a bit prickly,’ said Shepherd.

‘Officers are not used to being questioned by their men,’ said Kassar. ‘There are no Chinese parliaments here. Any discussion would sound like criticism and soldiers are not allowed to be critical of officers.’

‘I wasn’t being critical, Addy, I was just asking for information.’

‘I understand that, but he probably won’t see it that way,’ whispered Kassar.

There was a rumble as chairs were pushed back and men got to their feet again. Shepherd turned around to see that a colonel had entered the room, flanked by two captains.

‘Colonel Jamali,’ whispered Kassar.

The colonel was a short man, a good two inches shorter than the captains either side of him. All three were wearing desert camouflage fatigues with the sleeves rolled up, had Oakley sunglasses and had their maroon berets at the same jaunty angle. The colonel had a thick rope-like scar running from his right elbow down to his wrist. Shepherd noticed a big difference between the way the men in the room were saluting the colonel compared with the reception they had given Brigadier Khan. The salutes for the brigadier had been perfunctory at best, but for the colonel they snapped to attention and made eye contact, holding their position with ramrod-straight backs until he returned the salute. The men stayed standing while the colonel and the two captains took their seats at the front, just along from where Shepherd and Kassar were sitting.

The brigadier continued to watch his aide-de-camp place photographs on the whiteboard. Shepherd had the feeling that the brigadier had deliberately ignored the arrival of the colonel. Eventually the brigadier turned and walked to the podium, tapping it with his swagger stick to get everyone’s attention.

‘We will have six teams of four,’ said the brigadier. ‘Captain Ali will be in charge of teams Alpha and Bravo, Captain Sipra will be in charge of Charlie and Delta, and Captain Kassar will be in charge of Echo and Foxtrot. Colonel Jamali will be officer in command on the ground. The situation at the moment is that we have an al-Qaeda cell holding at least one hostage in a fort on the outskirts of Parachinar, close to the border with Afghanistan. We will be leaving at first light on three helicopters, designated Red, Blue and Green. Alpha and Bravo will be in red, Charlie and Delta will be in Blue and Echo and Foxtrot will be in Green. The flight time from Cherat to Parachinar is just over thirty minutes. Sunrise tomorrow is at 0658 hours so we expect to be arriving at the airfield at 0730 hours.’ The brigadier tapped the map with his swagger stick. ‘From the airport to the target is just under six miles. Transport will be taken on the helicopters and the teams will drive to a range of hills behind the fort. The teams will cross the range on foot. It should take less than fifteen minutes to reach the fort, which gives us an ETA of 0745. The mission is to take control of the fort and to rescue a British citizen who is being held captive there.’ He tapped his swagger stick on Raj’s photograph. ‘Manraj Chaudhry. A British citizen of Pakistani descent. He will almost certainly have been tortured and will be in weakened condition. Mr Shepherd, if you will be so good as to stand. Thank you.’

Shepherd got to his feet and turned to face the assembled men.

‘This is Daniel Shepherd, he has worked with Mr Chaudhry and will be a familiar face. He is also an SAS trained special forces soldier, so he will not require babysitting. He will be alongside Captain Kassar. Teams Echo and Foxtrot are tasked with bringing Mr Chaudhry back to the airport. Thank you, Mr Shepherd. You may sit down.’

Shepherd did as he was told.

The brigadier tapped another photograph on the whiteboard, this one a head-and-shoulders shot of a bearded Arab man with a hooked nose and dark patches under his eyes. ‘This is Akram Al-Farouq, a high-ranking al-Qaeda leader. We believe he is in the building, possibly overseeing the interrogation of the British agent. Captain Sipra and teams Charlie and Delta are tasked with capturing Akram Al-Farouq.’

Shepherd looked across at Kassar, wondering whether the captain had been told about Akram Al-Farouq. Kassar was staring at the photograph of the Arab as if trying to commit the features to memory. Shepherd turned to look at the colonel. He was sitting back in his chair, his legs outstretched, nodding enthusiastically.

‘We believe Akram Al-Farouq was involved in a number of attacks on Pakistani soil,’ said the brigadier. ‘In 2007 he was involved in the failed assassination attempt on former prime minister Benazir Bhutto. We believe he arranged the funding for the operation. They tried again two months later and this time they were successful. Again, we were able to show that the funding came from Akram Al-Farouq. He was also the paymaster for the car bomb attack on the Danish embassy in Pakistan in June 2008 and three months later organised the truck bomb attack on the Marriott Hotel in Islamabad that killed more than fifty people.’

He tapped two more photographs, surveillance shots of Akram Al-Farouq taken with a long lens. In one he was getting into a white SUV, in another he was sitting at a café drinking tea with an Arab, both men wearing pristine white ankle-length thawbs. He pointed at Al-Farouq. ‘I need you all to have a clear picture of this man in your head. Under no circumstances is he to be killed. He has incalculable value as an information source – no one knows more about the workings of al-Qaeda in this region.’

‘Is that how you found the location?’ interrupted Shepherd. ‘You were following Al-Farouq?’

The brigadier looked at Shepherd as if he had just broken wind. ‘That is an operational matter that I’m afraid I can’t discuss,’ he said, which Shepherd took as a ‘yes’. It was starting to look as if the operation was more about catching a high-value target and less about rescuing Raj. ‘Your priority is to make sure that he is captured so that he can be interrogated.’

‘With the greatest of respect, sir, my priority is to rescue Raj,’ said Shepherd. ‘That’s why I’m here.’

The brigadier’s eyes hardened and Shepherd realised that the officer wasn’t used to being questioned. Shepherd averted his eyes, knowing that the best course of action was to avoid a confrontation. The brigadier took a deep breath, then tapped a photograph of a stone-built fort. ‘The building we need to take is a small two-storey fort that used to be a garrison for the Frontier Corps until it was abandoned some ten years ago. It has fallen into disrepair but is now occupied by a small group of Taliban fighters, a dozen at most. The fort is at the bottom of a small range of hills. The teams will come over the range to the rear of the fort. There are two entrances: a main wooden door at the front and at the rear is a smaller door, also made of wood. There are windows on all sides, shuttered all the time so far as we know. Animals are kept inside and taken out during the day to scavenge for food. Teams Alpha and Bravo are to use shaped charges to blow the rear doors. They will move in to secure the rear of the fort. Teams Charlie and Delta will move to the front of the fort and blow those doors immediately after the rear has been accessed. Teams Echo and Foxtrot will follow Alpha and Bravo inside. All six units will clear the ground and upper floor, locate the hostage and Akram Al-Farouq, and then head back to the airfield.’ He looked up and paused for effect, before continuing. ‘This is to be a standard rescue operation. Move in and move out. The fort is not to be held, we are interested only in the rescue of the British agent and the capture of Akram Al-Farouq. There are substantial numbers of Taliban fighters in the area and we are not in a position to take them on.’ He looked at his wristwatch. ‘I suggest you get an early night. All teams are to gather at the helicopter landing pad with their equipment at 0500 hours.’ Shepherd assumed the brigadier was going to ask for questions or comments but he simply nodded, then stepped off the podium and headed for the door. His aide-de-camp began hurriedly pulling the photographs off the whiteboard.

‘What do you think, Addy?’ asked Shepherd.

‘The brigadier is correct, we need to get in and out quickly,’ said the captain. ‘We cannot fight an extended battle there. It’s a difficult area to fight in. The troops of the British Raj called it Hell’s Door Knocker, and if anything it’s worse these days. It’s controlled by the Taliban and looks set to stay that way.’ He smiled. ‘You might like to think of it as the equivalent of the Wild West, the people there are effectively a law unto themselves. It has long been that way. It was an independent tribal territory from 1893 and remained outside the control of the British Raj, and also independent of Afghanistan. Since 1947 it has been part of Pakistan but really that’s in name only.’

Kassar jumped to his feet. Shepherd looked up to see Colonel Jamali looking down at him with an amused smile on his face. Shepherd stood up. He realised that Kassar was saluting so he did the same. The colonel returned the salute. ‘So you are the SAS man?’ he said. He had a slight American accent, as if he watched a lot of Hollywood movies.

‘Former SAS,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’m with the Security Service these days.’

The colonel nodded. ‘So you are a spy?’

‘I wouldn’t say that,’ said Shepherd.

‘This Manraj we are going to rescue, how will he have stood up to interrogation?’

It was a good question, thought Shepherd. One that the brigadier should have asked. ‘He’s young and strong, so physically he should be OK. But his youth also means he doesn’t have much experience.’

The colonel nodded. ‘They will play mind games with him,’ he said. ‘Al-Qaeda are good at that. When we go in, as soon as we find him you are to stick with him. Like glue.’

‘Understood.’

The colonel studied Shepherd for several seconds. Shepherd could see his twin reflections in the lenses of the sunglasses. ‘So tell me, what do you think of our brigadier’s strategy?’ the colonel asked eventually.

Shepherd looked at the colonel, wondering what he should say. The truth could well end up with him being put on the next plane back to London.

The colonel grinned as if he sensed his confusion. ‘You can speak frankly,’ he said. Shepherd looked across at Kassar and the captain nodded encouragement.

‘If it was me, I’d go in at night,’ he said. ‘Attacks on a fortified building are all about having the element of surprise, and you’re more likely to get that in the middle of the night while everyone is asleep.’

‘Agreed,’ said the colonel. ‘But the territory is mountainous and we don’t like flying our helicopters at night.’

‘If we leave it until after dawn, they’ll be awake. What time is sunrise prayers?’

‘Just before 0700 hours.’

‘And Fajr prayers?’

The colonel lowered his head and looked at Shepherd over the top of his sunglasses. ‘You are not a Muslim, are you, Mr Shepherd?’

‘I’m not, Colonel. But I know the importance of praying five times a day to those who are.’

The colonel pursed his lips, then nodded slowly. ‘Fajr prayers commence at just after five thirty.’

‘So they’ll all be wide awake some three hours before we get there,’ said Shepherd. ‘We lose the element of surprise. When the attack starts they’ll be on a level field. In fact they’ll have the advantage because they’ll be inside and we’ll be outside. If it’s night and we have night vision goggles, we have the advantage. If night flying is a problem, why don’t we head off before dark? What time is sunset here?’

‘Eighteen forty-five hours,’ said the colonel. ‘We wouldn’t have time to get there before dark.’

‘So put it off one day,’ said Shepherd. ‘We could fly to the airfield just before it gets dark tomorrow and move in before first prayers. Five o’clock, say. Then back to the airfield at sunrise.’