Insurgency (4 page)

Gonzalez moved away holding a piece of cotton wool to his forearm as Miller entered the room and prepared to have his blood taken.

Rockbridge appeared in the doorway. “Did it hurt that much Gonzalez?”

“Funny.” Gonzalez started to walk away then changed his mind. “The Russian is going to the cave. I am formally requesting permission to accompany him in order to retrieve Black’s body, sir.”

“No.”

Gonzalez felt his face flush with resentment. “Maybe it wasn’t a lesson they taught you at West Point sir, but you never leave a man behind.”

Rockbridge let his lips curl in amusement. “If your screening is clear, you will accompany General Dratshev, but because I do not trust him. If you happen to retrieve Black’s body then so be it. Do you understand, Sargent?”

Gonzalez nodded, satisfied. “Yes Sir.”

As planned Styles was the last Delta operative to be tested. Dratshev nodded at Vaha, who immediately shut the door.

***

It had been more than twenty five years since Hakim had sensed their presence, their smell, their cold touch. He had grown older and had assigned their abilities to advanced Soviet training programs, to drugs and technology. He had convinced himself to forget but knew deep inside that it had all been a lie. A quarter of a century ago he had witnessed Hadama attacks and had fought back. He self-consciously touched the scars on his chest caused by the flames he had used against them. At that time he had cared little for his own safety, thought little of his own mortality and had acted. It was revenge for the loss of his family, the loss of his world. He had been the one to lead the raid against the cave; he had been the one who swore that the Soviet soldiers had been buried alive in a burning tomb. But like his memories they were not dead, merely buried. Hakim stared out of the bared window in what at Firebase Python was loosely referred to as ‘the stockade’. The Delta operative was one of them. It was proof that they still existed. In the past the other ANA members had humoured him when he had told them his story. Some of them too had heard rumours about the invincible Soviets, stories thrown around camp fires but unlike him they were from different provinces only he had seen them and knew that there was indeed no smoke without fire. Hakim touched his chest again. No one would believe him, no one would help him. He had to escape and he had to stop them.

Usually by now he’d be safely tucked up in his cot but Rockbridge’s day had been long and was not over yet. He was scanning the most recent Intel intercept when he sensed movement outside and looked up from his desk. Dratshev stood in the doorway.

“Major, I have finished screening your operatives.”

“And?”

The Russian shook his head. “I am afraid that one has been infected. The rest are in the clear.”

“Styles?” Rockbridge already knew the answer.

“Correct.”

“So what can be done?”

“I have some drugs which may slow the onset of the virus but if he is to stand any chance he must be transferred into my custody and taken to our tropical disease clinic. They have the project’s research notes and have been working on a strategy.”

“You know that I cannot authorise that. Styles is a serving member of the United States Army, he must be treated in a US facility. Your centre must transfer their research to us.”

“My government would never allow that, it would be tantamount to confirming that the project took place, against the Biological Weapons Convention. Leaks happen Major; you and I are both old enough to have experienced this. Your man’s only hope is to be taken with me to Moscow.”

Rockbridge ran his hand through his bristly grey hair. “Let me talk to someone. These drugs you have with you, they will slow the virus?”

“Yes. If I administer them now we may be able to delay the progress of the virus for a day or so. He must however be immediately placed under quarantine conditions.”

“Hell General. Look around, this is a firebase not Camp Leatherneck. We don’t have anywhere to put him.”

“Use the stockade.”

Miller and Eaton carried a sedated Styles on a stretcher to the stockade. Both had been ordered by Rockbridge to wear masks. Captain Osman, the CO of the ANA had Hakim in handcuffs and was leading him away. They crossed on the threshold. Hakim’s eyes went wide at the sight of Styles and he shouted at Osman in Pashtun. Osman shouted back and pushed him away. Styles started to groan; Miller and Eaton hurriedly took him inside and placed the stretcher on the bunk. In a well drilled movement both operatives removed the poles and let the material act as a sheet. Eaton leant over Styles and looked at his face. The eyes were still closed, the sedatives working. Miller tapped Eaton’s shoulder, signalling that they should both leave.

Outside Eaton lifted his mask. “Did you get what he said?”

Both operatives knew some Pashtun but Miller’s was better. “I heard what he said but I didn’t understand it. He said ‘that man is Hadama…Hadama.”

“What’s that, the Pashtun for ‘queer’?” Eaton grinned, his teeth reflecting the moonlight.

“As I said I don’t know. The guy’s crazy, probably smokes too much of Afghanistan’s finest.”

Dave Raymond sat in a corner of the tent on his cot and looked at ‘the rushes’, the unedited tape he had used that day. It had been a routine patrol with the 2nd Battalion, 5th Infantry of the US Army’s 25th Infantry Division (Light) who were normally based in Schofield Barracks in Hawaii. Raymond had asked where their ‘shirts’ were but the Yanks hadn’t seemed to get his humour. The patrol had entered the compound of a local Afghan leader who had been very vocal in decrying the Taliban and Al-Qaeda. The elder had gone on to state how safe he felt now with the new base in his backyard. He nevertheless however still employed AK wielding bodyguards. At first the locals found it insulting and then rather amusing to be interviewed by a woman, and Paige Turner was a rather gorgeous one. At five ten with natural blonde hair and a figure that even baggy combats struggled to hide she should have been a model, in the chauvinistic minds of most men she met, but was an award winning journalist turned documentary film maker. She had learnt Pashtun and taken up the plight of Afghanistan’s forgotten victims, the women who under the Taliban had been treated worse than dogs. She was asleep on the next cot. She was gorgeous but she snored. Raymond smiled, even Venus must have had her faults, probably farted like a trooper. He raised his eyes from the camera’s viewfinder and looked at her bum; the green fatigues cupped her buttocks as though made to measure. He let his gaze linger for too long. He wanted to sleep with her but the problem was that both she and his wife wouldn’t allow it. He smiled to himself, maybe he should ask them? He shook his head, it was late and he was fantasying again. Back to business. The documentary they were making was part of a series on the people of Afghanistan and how they had been affected and continued to be affected by the ‘insurgency’. In Raymond’s opinion ‘the Stan’ had been done to death, the locals had seen so many film crews that now most of them were eligible for their ‘Equity cards’. But, and it was a nice butt, Paige didn’t think so and as such the BBC had commissioned the documentary. Raymond came to the end of the day’s tape and then started to watch the fight at the canteen that had erupted after the arm wrestling. On film the American sat, looked like he was going to get beaten and then all but broke the Afghan’s arm. This satisfied Raymond, Hakim needed to be taken down a peg or two especially after he had made a lurid comment about Paige. Hakim had then stabbed at the American with his knife before being hauled away, but then something didn’t make sense. Raymond rewound and slowed the tape. He saw Hakim reach for his knife and thrust it deep into the chest of the American; it hadn’t been a glancing blow as he had thought. He watched the American stand shakily and then pull the blade out of his chest. Raymond paused the tape and wished he had his full editing suite with him to enlarge and enhance the frame, he hadn’t been as near as he had wished and the canteen lighting had not been the best. But then he also wished that they were more than a two man crew, however with the advances in digital technology he and Paige were all that was needed and the BBC had wanted the footage to have a ‘rougher edge’. Raymond leaned nearer the screen and squinted. He was sure that the blade had been driven at least several inches into the soldier’s chest, yet the man was able to pull it out as if it had been a comb in his pocket. Raymond started the tape again and saw the second American, the team leader, steady the first and then as if nothing had happened saw the first straighten up. “What the hell have we here?”

There was movement from his neighbour’s cot. “I give up! You’ve been tutting and humpfing for the last ten minutes. I was asleep!”

“I know, you were snoring.”

“I do not snore.”

“How would you know if you were asleep?”

“Anyway, I’m awake now. What is it?” Turner sat up.

“I was looking at the footage we took of the stabbing.”

“Dave you know we can’t use that, we can’t show the faces or any details about the Special Forces operatives.”

“That’s why I was having a look before I delete it.”

“So?”

“So?” Raymond paused; he always found it hard to concentrate around her. Especially when she was on a bed and looking into his eyes.

“What did you see?”

“Oh…Look at this.” Raymond rewound the tape; Turner sat on his cot and leant against him. “There, see?”

“Hakim tried to stab the Delta boy but missed.”

“He didn’t miss.”

“What?”

“Look again.” Raymond slowed the footage and paused on the relevant frames. “The blade did go in but the bloke didn’t feel it.”

“That’s not possible.”

“Well it happened and he took it out.”

Turner leaned forward, her blouse opening slightly. “But the suction from penetrating the chest cavity would have been huge. He pulled it out like…” Her voice trailed off as she made no attempt to stifle a yawn.

“Pity we can’t use it eh? Or even talk about it.”

“So what, was he wearing some new type of ultra-thin Kevlar or stab vest?”

“No.”

“Well whatever ‘X File’ you’ve found can wait until the morning.” Turner looked at her wristwatch. “It’s late. Let’s go to bed.”

“Paige please, I’m not that kind of boy.”

“Yes you are, but I’m not that sort of girl. Now let’s go to bed, you in your bed and me in mine.”

“Fine, but one request.”

“What?” Turner sat back on her own cot.

“Please try not to snore.”

Turner picked up her boot and threw it at him. “I do not snore!”

Raymond rubbed his arm and feigned injury. He was about to speak when he heard the unmistakable sound of a helo engine start and then the thud…thud…thud of rotor blades. “At this hour?”

“Must be an ‘immediate’?”

“Come on.” He slipped on his UK Gear PT-03 desert trainers, grabbed the camera and left the tent. Turner hobbled after him pulling on her Timberlands and was just in time to see Rockbridge leave his quarters and head for the Delta tent. “Film it.”

“I am, but you know we shouldn’t.”

“It could be something big.”

“They’ve already found bin-Laden you know.”

“Well then maybe they’ve found Lord Lucan or Jimmy Hoffa. Now let’s get nearer.”

Staying in the shadows the pair skirted the edge of the camp. As they did so a second helo started up and three Delta operatives ran from their tent towards it at the far end of the firebase. Rockbridge appeared again.

Turner put her hand on Raymond’s back. “Stay here, I’ll go and ‘chat’ him up.”

“Tart.” Replied Raymond as he remained hidden.

Rockbridge watched the Delta team leave and sipped from a water bottle. He hated being woken up, always had done and always would. Dratshev had left the base without warning and without clearance in the helo he had arrived in. Rockbridge had stuck to his word and had wasted no time in ordering Delta to follow, but Gonzalez had been annoyed at having to stay back and oversee Styles. Hearing footfall, Rockbridge turned. He rolled his eyes but then quickly smiled professionally. “And what can I do for you Ms Turner, a cup of coco perhaps?”

“Good Evening Major. What’s up?”

Rockbridge liked her bluntness. “We have just received some flash Intel, a possible sighting of an al-Qaeda player.”

Turner nodded accepting the lie. “Who?”

“You know I can’t tell you that.”

“Where?”

“I can’t tell you that either.” He changed the subject. “I hear you are returning to Camp Bastion tomorrow?”

“That’s right; I’m doing one last day patrol with Lieutenant Mullins and then jumping on a helo. But I could stay if something interesting were to pop up.”

“If anything ‘pops up’ I’ll be sure to let you know. Good night Ms Turner.”

“Goodnight.” Turner watched him walk to his prefab quarters. He was hiding something but… but nothing. She was tired, dead on her feet. She wearily trudged back to her cot. Raymond arrived moments later and plonked the camera down on his bed.

“Don’t even think of looking at that now.” Turner warned him. “Just let me sleep.”

Raymond smiled. “Fine, just don’t snore.”

“We are being followed, Comrade General.” Vaha tapped the radar screen.

“It is to be expected. Just keep us at an even pace. There are still three hours of darkness and we shall be in the cave in forty minutes. We have nothing to hide.”

Vaha had known better than to question Dratshev earlier, but now as they finally neared their target he could no longer hold back his curiosity. “These men in the cave, they are the originals?”

“They are ‘The Vampires’, Vaha. The most deadly fighting force this world has ever experienced.”

There was a silence as Vaha absorbed this information. Dratshev could hear the Chechen’s mind working. “I have commanded some of these men for centuries. Now Vaha, you are to join them.”

“I am honoured, Comrade General.”

“As well you should be.” They continued on in silence. Dratshev thought back on the battles he and his men had fought, some of which had been recorded in the great books of history. Many had died to be replaced over the years with the most promising fighting men, those he had turned ‘vampire’. Vaha was one such sire. Battle hardened against the Islamic militants in Chechnya, where Dratshev had relocated his research after the cave had fallen. Vaha would now swell his ranks. Dratshev still however needed others.