Spider Shepherd 11 - White Lies (18 page)

‘You need to tell the truth, about everything,’ said Mahmud. ‘Only then can you be believed.’

‘Please don’t kill them,’ said Raj. ‘I beg you. In the name of Allah the Merciful.’

‘You will be truthful?’ asked Mahmud.

‘Yes, I will!’ shouted Raj. ‘Now let them go!’

‘Have you betrayed us?’ asked Mahmud.

Raj closed his eyes. ‘Yes,’ he said, his voice barely audible.

‘You have been working for MI6?’

Raj took a deep breath, then exhaled and nodded slowly. ‘Yes,’ he said.

Mahmud smiled as he walked towards Raj. He patted him gently on the shoulder. ‘Well done, brother,’ he said. ‘You have done the right thing. You have saved your friends. Now together we can save your soul.’

The pilot made full use of the plane’s short take-off and landing characteristics and came to a stop a few seconds after touching down. There was a single runway at the Cherat army base and a parking area where there was a line of a dozen assorted planes in army livery.

The pilot came out of the cockpit and opened the door, just as a Land Rover Defender pulled up. The desert heat hit Shepherd like a hot shower and he felt sweat beading on his face as he pulled open the rear door of the Land Rover and threw in his holdall. Kassar climbed in next to him. ‘We have a briefing with Brigadier Khan this evening at seven,’ he said.

‘Can’t you bring me up to speed?’ asked Shepherd.

‘Only the brigadier has information on the mission. We haven’t been told anything other than that we are to go in early tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow? We’re going in tomorrow? Are you sure?’

‘Is there a problem?’

‘Hell, yes, there’s a problem. We need to rehearse. Practise. I haven’t even got a weapon.’

‘I’m going to take you to the quartermaster now,’ said Kassar. ‘We’ll get you everything you need.’

‘Addy, we can’t go in cold. We need to train first.’

They drove past a line of hangars where mechanics in green overalls were working on three Russian-built Mil Mi-17 transport helicopters.

‘We train all the time,’ said the captain. ‘We have done building entries a thousand times.’

‘Not with me, you haven’t.’

‘But you are well trained. You’re with the SAS.’

Shepherd didn’t want to contradict the captain about being a member of the Regiment, but even if he had still been in the Regiment, he would have been insisting on a full rehearsal with live rounds. ‘Addy, I need to speak with the brigadier now.’

‘That’s not possible,’ said the captain. ‘He’s in Islamabad briefing the prime minister. He is not expected to be here until this afternoon.’

‘You mean the man who is leading the mission isn’t even on site?’

‘Brigadier Khan won’t be leading the attack, that’ll be Colonel Jamali.’

‘So what will the brigadier be doing?’

‘He’ll be monitoring from the base,’ said Kassar.

‘Typical REMF,’ said Shepherd.

‘What is a REMF?’ asked the captain.

Shepherd realised that it was probably best not to tell him that he’d called the brigadier a Rear Echelon Mother Fucker, even though the description seemed to be appropriate.

‘It’s what we call a soldier who stays away from the front line. What can you tell me about the colonel?’

‘He is a good man. He was also at Operation Janbaz. He has been in the SSG for more than twenty years.’

‘Can I talk to him?’

‘Of course. Once we have got you your equipment, I will take you to see him.’

‘I could do with a shower,’ said Shepherd.

‘I have arranged a room for you in the officers’ mess,’ said the captain.

Shepherd looked out of the window. Most of the troopers he saw were wearing the US woodland-pattern camouflage fatigues though only the SSG commandos were wearing maroon berets. ‘How many people know what’s going on?’ asked Shepherd.

‘Six teams of four have been put on stand-by,’ said Kassar. ‘Then there are three captains, including myself. And the colonel, of course.’

‘What about regular army?’ asked Shepherd. ‘Will they be moving in to secure the area afterwards?’

Kassar looked uncomfortable. ‘It is a difficult area to secure,’ he said. ‘It is controlled by the Taliban, and has been for as long as I can remember. Troops are sent in from time to time, but they always leave.’

‘So what are you saying? We go in, get the hostage, and leave?’

‘I don’t have the operational details. We’ll get those from the brigadier.’

Shepherd laughed. ‘Sounds like you’re being treated like a mushroom,’ said Shepherd. ‘Happens to me all the time in my job.’

The captain frowned. ‘Mushroom? I don’t understand.’

‘They keep you in the dark and feed you bullshit,’ said Shepherd. ‘That’s what they do with mushrooms.’

The captain’s frown deepened, then he laughed. ‘That’s good,’ he said. ‘That’s very good.’

‘It’s also very true, unfortunately,’ Shepherd said. ‘Our masters often operate on the basis that we are told only what they think we need to know. But you and I will be the ones going in with guns.’

‘While they carry on being REMFs?’

‘Exactly,’ said Shepherd.

The Land Rover pulled up in front of a large featureless building. Kassar climbed out and Shepherd followed him.

‘You’ll need everything, all the gear?’ asked the captain, as he pushed open a pair of double doors. Ahead of them was a counter some ten metres wide behind which stood three men in white overalls and behind them stretched rows and rows of clothing and equipment in metal racks that reached up to the roof.

‘I bought my own boots with me,’ said Shepherd.

Kassar nodded. ‘Boots are important,’ he said.

‘So are guns, but I don’t think they would let me on a plane with an MP5,’ said Shepherd.

One of the men in white overalls walked over and spoke to Kassar in Urdu. Kassar replied and then turned to Shepherd. ‘He needs your measurements.’

‘Thirty-eight chest, thirty-inch waist. Five feet eleven.’

The quartermaster obviously spoke English because he scribbled on a clipboard and then disappeared among the racks.

‘I saw the helicopters back there,’ said Shepherd. ‘Is that how we’re going in?’

‘We haven’t been told, but they are all being readied so we’re assuming we’ll be using them.’

‘I can’t get over the fact that no one talks to you before a mission,’ said Shepherd.

‘It’s different in the SAS?’

‘Chalk and cheese,’ said Shepherd. ‘We’re all asked for our input, and everyone is listened to. We call it a Chinese parliament.’

‘In the SSG, the senior officer makes the decisions,’ said Kassar.

‘Officers make the decisions in the SAS, too, but more often than not the troopers have more experience so only an idiot would ignore his men,’ said Shepherd.

The quartermaster returned with fatigues, Kevlar gloves, a black Kevlar helmet, and black Kevlar knee and elbow protectors. ‘Underwear? Socks?’ he asked Shepherd.

Shepherd shook his head. ‘I’m good. Boots too. I could do with a decent vest with ceramic plates front, back and groin.’

The quartermaster grunted and headed back among the racks.

Shepherd grinned at Kassar. ‘Better safe than sorry. What about radios and headsets?’

‘I’ll get one for you just before we leave,’ said the captain.

The quartermaster returned with the Kevlar vest. The plates were already in place. Shepherd tapped them with his knuckles though there was no way of knowing for sure whether they would stop a bullet. ‘We buy them from America,’ said Kassar, as if reading his mind.

‘Just so long as they work,’ said Shepherd.

‘Have you ever been shot?’

Shepherd nodded. ‘My shoulder, a while back,’ he said. ‘In Afghanistan.’

‘AK-47?’ The quartermaster handed his clipboard and pen to Kassar and the captain signed with a flourish.

‘AK-74. What about you?’

‘I’ve been lucky.’

‘Luck’s important,’ said Shepherd. ‘Luck and ceramic plates.’

The captain took the jacket while Shepherd picked up the rest of the equipment. They took it out to the Land Rover, loaded it into the back, and climbed in. The SSG officers’ mess was in a separate compound, a two-storey building with bedrooms on the top floor and a recreation room, dining room, gym and administration centre on the ground floor. There were a dozen or so officers in fatigues sprawled on sofas watching football on a large flatscreen television. They all turned to watch as Shepherd and Kassar carried the gear upstairs. His room was the size of a prison cell and about as welcoming. There was a single bed, a cheap wooden wardrobe and a table and chair. There were marks on the wall where there had once been posters, and cobwebs in the corners that suggested that cleaning wasn’t a regular occurrence. Kassar dropped the vest on the bed. ‘I’ll wait downstairs while you get ready,’ he said. ‘Do you need to sleep?’

‘I’m fine,’ said Shepherd. ‘What I need is a gun and the opportunity to fire a few rounds.’

‘Soon as you’re ready, I’ll take you to the armoury,’ said Kassar.

He went downstairs. Shepherd shaved and showered and changed into the fatigues, then sat on the bed, laced up his boots and switched on the sat phone. He called Button and she answered on the third ring. ‘I’m here, at the SSG base in Cherat,’ he said.

‘Any problems?’

‘One big one,’ said Shepherd. ‘They’re all geared up to go in tomorrow morning.’

‘That seems a bit sudden.’

‘You’re telling me,’ said Shepherd. ‘And the guy in charge isn’t even here. There doesn’t seem to be a game plan, or if there is he isn’t telling anyone.’

‘When will you know what they’re going to do?’

‘There’s a briefing from some Brigadier Khan later tonight. Have you heard of him?’

‘No, but I’ll see what I can find out. Do you have any idea what’s planned?’

‘They’re going to use helicopters. And they have already earmarked the guys. Six strike teams of four men, which is fair enough. But there’s to be no army back-up, it’s a straightforward in and out.’

‘It’s Taliban-controlled territory, right?’

‘Sounds like it. I think they’re scared of a full-on battle.’

‘Understandable,’ said Button.

‘I’ll know after the briefing, I’ll call you then,’ said Shepherd. He ended the call and went downstairs. Kassar was watching the football. He had acquired a transceiver that was clipped to his belt, and he had a Glock in a leather holster. He stood up and introduced Shepherd to his companions. They were all under thirty, lean and fit, and almost all were wearing impenetrable sunglasses and sporting Rolex Submariner watches.

Shepherd could tell from the way they were looking at him they had questions but none of them said anything other than to tell him their names. Introductions done, Kassar took him outside, where the Land Rover was waiting.

The armoury was outside the SSG compound, a single-storey windowless building surrounded by a chain-link fence topped with razor wire. Two guards cradling MP5s saluted and opened a gate for the Land Rover to drive up to the building. Two more armed guards stood aside to allow them inside.

‘What weapon are you most comfortable with?’ asked the captain, as they approached a counter behind which stood two uniformed armourers, both men in their forties.

‘Addy, no offence, but that depends on what we’re going to be doing, doesn’t it? If it’s a close-quarter battle situation then I’d be happy with an MP5, but if we’re outside blasting away then a G3 or even a heavy machine gun.’

‘I like the G3,’ said the captain.

‘So do I, but if we’re inside, the round is a bit on the large side, you get less of a ricochet with the nine-mill.’

‘So which do you prefer?’

Shepherd sighed. The choice of weapon came down to horses for courses but clearly no one was going to tell him what the course was. The one thing he did know was that it was a hostage rescue so the MP5 made more sense. ‘I’ll take an MP5,’ he said.

‘And as a sidearm. We have Glocks, the Beretta 92F and the SIG Sauer P226.’

Shepherd’s face brightened. The SIG was his favourite handgun. ‘The P226 will do fine,’ he said.

Kassar spoke to one of the armourers and he went over to a cage full of MP5s on racks. He took a carbine and gave it to the captain, who in turn passed it to Shepherd. Shepherd quickly field-stripped, reassembled and dry-fired it. It appeared to be almost new and he nodded his approval. The quartermaster returned with a P226 in a nylon holster. Shepherd checked the weapon. Like the MP5, it was pristine.

‘OK?’ asked Kassar.

‘All good,’ said Shepherd. ‘Can I get in some target practice, get the sights sorted?’

‘Sure,’ said the captain. He said something to the quartermaster, who disappeared into the back of the armoury and reappeared with two boxes of 9mm cartridges. Kassar signed for the guns and ammunition and they went back outside to the Land Rover. The shooting range was a short drive away, an outdoor area surrounded by another chain-link fence. There were free-standing targets in front of a mound of earth and a line of wooden tables from where the guns could be fired. Kassar watched as Shepherd loaded the clips and fired away, calibrating the sights until his grouping was as tight as it had been in Credenhill. ‘You have a good eye,’ said Kassar, nodding approvingly.

‘It’s always easy to hit targets when they’re not shooting back,’ said Shepherd, making both the weapons safe.

The radio on Kassar’s hip crackled and he put it to his ear. He listened and then nodded at Shepherd. ‘The brigadier’s here and the briefing’s in ten minutes.’

Brigadier Khan was in his fifties, a barrel-chested man with swept-back hair that was greying at the temples. He had a line of multicoloured medals on his chest and an ebony swagger stick that looked as if it belonged in colonial times. His uniform was spotless and neatly pressed and his boots gleamed. From the look of the man’s immaculately manicured nails he hadn’t polished the boots himself.

The briefing was in a long windowless room close to the officers’ mess. There were a dozen rows of plastic chairs facing a small podium on which there was a lectern decorated with the Pakistan flag. On the wall behind the lectern was a whiteboard and to the left of it was a large-scale map of the north-west of Pakistan.