Ultimate Weapon (30 page)

A chorus of strangled screams started to rise up from the plant: the pitiful, anguished moaning of bodies that were already burnt beyond survival. Flames were licking up around the centre, and a huge, thick cloud of black smoke was billowing above it. Jed could see the soldiers on the perimeter rushing into action. Men were shouting, running in different directions, but the strike had already destroyed their command and control. No one had any idea what to do. Glancing sideways, he could see the black van screeching down the side road that led out of the city, its lights flashing and its siren screaming.

It had escaped, unscathed.

Whatever the hell it was.

Jed could suddenly hear the noise again.

Another approaching missile.

He looked up into the sky. There were missiles coming in from all directions. The city was full of noise and light, as if you were trapped in the middle of an electronic thunderstorm. From up here, they had a grandstand view of the mayhem. There were flashes and explosions everywhere. Jed looked to his right. A missile was striking the centre of the Republican Palace compound, closely followed by another one. Two huge explosions rocked the ground, crashing into Jed’s eardrums. Great walls of fire were shooting up into the sky. He looked to his left. A missile had struck one of the bridges, slicing it clean in half, sending a river of flame licking down into the streets on either side. Another had crashed straight into the Tigris, sending jets of water high into the air, then creating a fifteen-foot wave that was hurtling down the riverbed.

‘Jesus, they’re taking down the whole sodding city,’ gasped Jed.

‘Nice of them to fucking tell us,’ said Matt. ‘Seeing as we’re in the fucking middle of it.’

Instinctively, Jed ducked, as a missile flew in low over his head. It was maybe fifty feet above him but, looking up, he could see its thick steel hide whizzing past. Within seconds it had crashed into the plant. A deafening roar rolled out through the building, shattering windows and making the building shake. People were flooding out
into the streets, shouting and crying. Too frightened to stay inside, thought Jed.
This is what it must have been like during the worse nights of the Blitz.

‘There’s soldiers on the bloody stairs,’ shouted Matt.

Jed spun round. Matt was peering down the stairwell that led down into the interior of the building. ‘That old guy who was following us earlier, he’s bloody come to get us,’ he said. Sweat was pouring off his face, and his voice was ragged. His AK-47 had already been whipped out of his kitbag. He was jabbing the tip of his gun down into the stairwell, and had already loosened off a couple of rounds of fire. About five miles to the left, another missile had crashed into the city, sending an electric firestorm shooting up into the sky and briefly making it as bright as the middle of the day. Down below, soldiers were streaming away from the burning plant, shouting and firing their guns to clear the streets. Up above, Jed felt certain he could hear the sound of more oncoming missiles. ‘Get me a bloody grenade,’ shouted Matt.

The sweat was streaming down the side of his face, mixing with the blackening on his skin. His eyes were bloodshot and tense, glinting with a murderous anger.

Jed threw open his kitbag, and ran towards the stairs, passing Matt two grenades. ‘They’re fucking looking for us,’ said Matt.

He ripped the pin from the stun grenade, and tossed it down the stairs. Jed listened to it rattling across the concrete as it fell, then the burst of noise as it exploded. Both men paused for a second, while the smell of thick,
acrid smoke started to drift back up the stairs. Matt ripped the pin on the second grenade and tossed it down. Within seconds, they heard the blast and the muffled screams of the men below.

‘I’m going down,’ said Matt. ‘You count for one minute, then follow my arse.’

Jed flinched as another missile crashed into the city. How far away it was he couldn’t tell. Two miles, maybe three. The rolling sound of explosions was rocking the night, and the sky was now completely lit up by fires and explosions. Down below, the Iraqi Army was wildly shooting up into the sky, trying to hit the incoming missiles. Poor sods, thought Jed grimly.
They might as well be using pea-shooters for all the good they are doing.

‘It’s too bloody dangerous,’ shouted Jed.

‘It’s my fucking skin,’ shouted Matt. ‘I’ll decide when to risk it.’

Jed grabbed his arm. It was suicide for him to go down there by himself. The army could be crawling all over the staircase. They were outgunned. ‘It’s bloody madness,’ he shouted. ‘We can defend this position.’

‘Let go of my fucking arm,’ growled Matt.

‘You’ve no bloody idea what’s down there.’

‘I said let the fuck go,’ shouted Matt, shrugging him aside. ‘Steve and Rob are already dead because you keep fucking up. I’m not going down as well.’

He ripped himself free, and disappeared down the staircase. His AK-47 was held out in front of him, and he was already ripping loose, firing off round after round. Thick clouds of yellow smoke were billowing up the
stairs from the grenades. Another missile was streaking through the sky, and in the next second the building shook as the ground three miles away was shattered by another incoming strike.

Jed heard a scream. Matt, he thought instantly. There was a volley of gunfire, then more shouting. ‘Fuck it,’ he muttered. ‘Here goes.’

With his AK-47 in front of him, Jed plunged into the smoke. He was holding his breath, but his eyes were already wet and stinging from the smoke. He was tearing down the stairs, his feet crashing into the concrete. Another scream. A woman this time. Or maybe a child. It was impossible to tell amid the noise. He pressed on, down one flight of stairs, then another. Suddenly a movement caught his eye. Jed narrowed his eyes, focusing hard through the billowing smoke. A hand. With a gun in it. Jed didn’t think the man had seen him yet, but he might well have heard him. Gripping on to the AK-47, Jed slammed his finger hard into the trigger. The bullets rattled from the barrel of the gun, smashing into the man’s body like a storm of lethal hailstones. He turned, looking up at Jed, but the blood was already seeping from his open wounds. In the next instant he’d collapsed. Jed skipped over his body. The smoke was thinning out as he went down another level. A woman was cowering in the doorway, her body rigid with fear. Jed crashed down one more level. A body was lying crumpled in front of him. Jed looked down. A black sweatshirt, and a couple of days’ growth of beard.

Matt.

You mad bugger, thought Jed grimly.

He knelt down, but it only took a moment to realise he was dead. He must have taken at least three or four bullets straight to his head, smashing open his skull. Half his brain was smeared across the damp concrete.

There was just one more flight of stairs. Jed loosed off a burst of gunfire, but the stairs had been cleared already. The smoke from the grenades was clearing, and he could hear nothing except the wailing of a baby inside one of the apartments and the sobs of the mother as she tried to calm it. We should fight our bloody wars in the desert, thought Jed, as he ran down the last flight of stairs.
Not in here, the centre of a city, among ordinary people.

With a sharp intake of breath, Jed filled his lungs as soon as he hit the street. He had to get away from here, find somewhere he could hide until the missile strike was done with and he could check in with the Firm to arrange his pickup. There was sweat pouring off his face and back, his gun hanging from his chest. The streets had descended into panic. A few people turned to look at him, unsure whether he was a soldier or not, but most were running in all directions, shouting, pushing and jostling one another. Jed could see the fear in the faces, but also glimpses of defiance. They were steeling themselves for a long fight. Up ahead, a huge ball of fire was still leaping out of the plant, illuminating the night sky like a bonfire. A couple of miles to the right, more fires were raging. You could feel the whole city getting hotter and hotter by the minute. Just then, the ground shook,
and the echo of an explosion started to rumble through the streets. Another missile strike. Jesus, Jed thought. What the hell is our strategy here? Just to keep bombing the bloody place until it’s completely flattened?

Does anyone know what kind of hell this place is being turned into?

Got to get away, he told himself. Three of us are dead already, and in the next few minutes I could well make it four out of four.

About a hundred yards away, Jed could see an army truck. A dozen soldiers were shouting orders, sometimes firing their guns over the heads of the anxious crowd. But even the troops seemed to be too nervous to climb down from their vehicles.

He slung his AK-47 into his kitbag, and started running down the street. Just keep moving until you see somewhere, he told himself. The bulk of the crowd was heading east, trying to get out of the city. Maybe they have friends or family in the villages there, he thought. Maybe they’re just going anywhere to get away from the missiles. He saw a small boy, maybe six or seven, crying, looking for the parents who had lost him in the rush. Jed pushed on. The soldiers had moved away. A couple of cars were trying to force their way down the street. One of them hit Jed in the thigh, and he cried out as the pain rippled through his leg, then stifled the noise. As he looked up, the driver was already leaning out of his window shouting at him. For a brief second, he seemed to realise Jed might be a foreigner, but then he moved on, interested only in saving his own skin.
Jed ran another hundred yards, then turned left into a quieter street. Another missile had hit the city, maybe three or four miles away, and the sky was filled with sparks. He paused. No way anyone’s getting out of this hellhole, he told himself.
The only thing is to hunker down and wait for it to end.

A sewer. Jed had tucked into a small alley squeezed between two apartment buildings. He could smell burning not very far away, but neither of the buildings were alight. Not yet anyway. There were three manhole covers right beneath his feet, arranged in a neat circle. He knelt down and ripped open the first one. The smell wasn’t as bad as he might have expected: a mixture of rotting fruit, bad eggs and diesel fuel. He lowered himself down slowly. It was dark inside, and impossible to tell how far a drop it might be, but Jed could hear the rushing water below, and judged it couldn’t be more than a few feet. He let go, his body collapsing through the air.

The fall lasted only a fraction of a second. His feet hit the freezing water first, then he rolled his body on to its side, to deflect the impact on his legs. In the next moment, he could feel the water rushing around his side, and over his head. He clamped his mouth tight, and closed his eyes. Kicking his legs down, he found his footing, stopped himself from being dragged along by the water, then stood up. He opened his eyes. The water was flowing around him, but only came up to his waist. Two yards away, he could see a ledge running along the side of water.

The tunnel was about ten feet across, and eight or
nine feet high. Walking towards its side, he pulled himself up, and sat down. His clothes were wet through, and something sticky had attached itself to his hair and the beard that was growing on his chin. His hands felt clammy and hot, and his stomach was heaving. He closed his eyes, getting his breath back under control. Up above, he could hear the explosions of another pair of missiles striking the city, and even below the manholes, the noise of people running through the streets filtered through. Reaching into his kitbag, he took out a bottle of water, uncapped it, and swilled the water around his mouth to clean it out. Next he took out a packet of biscuits, eating three of them in quick succession. Get as much sugar into your bloodstream as you can, he told himself. You’re going to have to find some energy from somewhere.

Time to phone home, he thought. He walked through the putrid, icy water until he found a manhole cover, then edged it aside. He needed to hold the satphone to the open street to pick up a signal, but he knew as he was doing so he was creating an electronic splash that could be picked up by the enemy. Hold your breath and take the risk, he told himself. You don’t have any choice.

At least this bloody mission is over now, he thought. There can’t be anything more we can do in this godforsaken city. With the punishment it’s taking tonight, there may not be much of Baghdad left by the morning.

He glimpsed a flash of light and heard the thunderous echo of another missile strike as he punched out the number. One ring, then another. ‘Get me Laura,’ he snapped as soon as the phone was answered. ‘Right now.’

One second passed, then two. He could hear shouting above him, about a hundred yards away. Then a round of gunfire.

‘Laura here,’she said. Her voice was breathless, clipped, like a woman waiting for the results of a cancer test. ‘What happened?’

‘Didn’t you get satellites to take some pictures?’

‘Of course,’ she snapped. ‘But it’s not the same as having a man on the ground.’

‘It’s a fuck-up,’ said Jed tersely.

A pause. He could sense her lips tightening over the phone.
That wasn’t what she wanted to hear.

‘The other three guys are dead,’ he continued. ‘Matt about an hour ago.’

‘The missile didn’t hit the plant?’

‘They hit it all right. We guided them home just like you asked us to, and it cost Matt his life. But there was a van that drove out of the place just before the missiles came in. I reckon that whatever you were trying to hit was inside.’