Spider Shepherd 11 - White Lies (38 page)

Button paced up and down, staring at the blank screen. ‘How the hell does something like this happen?’ she said.

‘It’s technology,’ said Singh. ‘Sometimes it just goes wrong.’

‘How much do those drones cost? Forty million dollars?’

‘Sure, but each component is produced for the lowest possible price,’ said Singh. ‘Remember when the
Challenger
space shuttle blew up, all because an O-ring failed?’

‘Talk to Eric again, find out what’s happening.’

‘He’s working on it. Best leave him to it.’

Button sighed and ran a hand through her hair. ‘You’re right. Sorry. I just feel so bloody helpless.’

‘You and me both,’ said Singh.

‘There has to be something we can do. Some way we can find out where Al-Haznawi is headed.’

‘If they can’t fix the Sentinel, the only way would be to get another drone in the area.’

‘They’re trying that.’ She put her hands over her face and fought the urge to scream in frustration.

‘Do you want me to get you a coffee?’ asked Singh.

Button forced a smile. ‘I think caffeine is probably the last thing I need just now,’ she said. Her mobile rang and she took the call. It was Lex Harper. ‘Any news?’ he asked.

‘Plenty, but none of it good,’ said Button.

‘I might be able to help,’ said Harper. ‘Are you near a computer?’

‘Sitting opposite one. What have you got?’

‘I think I have a line to Al-Farouq,’ said Harper. ‘He changes his cellphone number every day, and there’s a website his contacts can go where they get the number. It’s password protected so be careful because enter the wrong code twice and the website shuts down.’

Button pressed the button to put the call on speaker. ‘I’m with a colleague, Lex. He’s going to access the website.’

‘OK, but easy does it,’ said Harper. He dictated the URL and Singh typed it in. He pressed enter and the screen went blank but for a small white horizontal oblong. ‘I’m in,’ he said.

‘OK, now the password is today’s date, in numbers. Day then month then year. Eight digits in all. Followed by A and I and G.’

‘Allah is great?’ said Singh.

‘Hardly original, is it?’ said Harper. ‘But pretty uncrackable and it changes every day. So eleven digits in all.’

Singh typed in the password. He hit enter and the screen went blank. Singh frowned across at Button.

‘Lex, the screen has gone blank.’

‘Give me a minute,’ said Harper. The line went dead.

Harper pointed at Ullah. ‘You think you can lie to me? You think I’m stupid?’

Ullah shook his head. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I gave you the website. I gave you the password.’ Harper had cut away the duct tape gag but the imam was still bound to the chair.

‘The screen went blank,’ said Harper. ‘They put the password in just as you said, and the screen went blank. You gave me the wrong password, is that what you did?’ He flicked the cigarette lighter and Ullah rocked from side to side on the chair.

‘Stop!’ he shouted.

‘You lied to me, you bastard!’

‘I didn’t lie! I didn’t lie! That’s what happens. The screen goes blank. You click on the top right-hand corner of the screen. Then you’ll see the number.’

‘You didn’t say anything about clicking in the corner.’

‘I forgot!’ shouted Ullah. ‘It’s hard to think, all these fumes.’

Harper put the cigarette lighter away and called Button on his mobile. ‘He says you just click on the top right-hand corner of the screen.’

‘We’ll try that,’ said Button. ‘Stay on the line.’ He heard her talking to someone and then she came back. ‘Brilliant, Lex. Thanks.’

Harper ended the call and put the phone away. He nodded at Ullah. ‘Seems you were right.’

‘Now what?’ said Ullah. ‘Now you can let me go, right?’

‘Sure.’

‘That’s what you said. You said you’d let me go if I helped you. I’ve helped you. You have to keep your word.’

Harper took out his cigarette lighter.

‘No, you can’t burn me,’ said Ullah. ‘You promised.’

Harper took out his cigarettes and lit one. He grinned, turned his back on the man and put the lighter away. ‘No, I’m not going to burn you.’

The imam smiled hopefully. ‘So you’ll let me go?’

‘Let’s not go counting chickens until we’ve heard back from the little lady,’ said Harper.

Charlotte Button put her headset back on and called Yokely. ‘I’m sorry, Charlotte, we’re still flying blind here,’ he said. ‘There are no drones in the immediate area but I’m trying to get one launched as we speak.’

‘I might be able to help you locate Al-Farouq,’ she said. ‘I have a cellphone number for him.’

‘Doubtful he’ll be using it,’ said Yokely.

‘It’s how he keeps in touch with his people in the UK,’ said Button. ‘He changes the Sim card every twelve hours, the number is only accessible through a protected website.’

‘Give me the number and I’ll get it checked out,’ said Yokely.

‘If the number is live and if it’s in north-west Pakistan, will you send in the SEALs?’

‘It’s a gamble, Charlotte. You know that.’

‘I understand that, but it’s the only hope we have right now.’

‘Let me check the number and I’ll get back to you.’ The line went dead. Button stared at the central monitor. It was still blank.

Shepherd gestured at the food on the table. ‘Raj, you should eat,’ he said.

Raj shook his head. ‘I’m not hungry.’

‘That’s the adrenalin,’ said Shepherd. ‘You need to ignore it and just shove as much protein and carbohydrate as you can into your system.’ He leant over, picked up a piece of chicken and gave it to Raj, then took another piece for himself. Raj put it to his mouth but then his stomach heaved and he bent double. He retched but nothing came out. Shepherd stood up and patted him on the back. ‘Take it easy,’ he said.

‘What’s going to happen?’ asked Raj.

It wasn’t a question that Shepherd could answer. In fact he was trying not to answer it, because he could only see their predicament ending in one way and that was with their deaths. Al-Qaeda didn’t take prisoners, or at least they didn’t keep them for long. They weren’t like the Somalian pirates who took hostages for ransom. Al-Qaeda wasn’t about money, it was about political ideology. They would keep Raj and him alive only for as long as they were extracting information from them. Once they had what they needed, Shepherd was sure that they’d be killed. And killed brutally. Probably with a blade, the words ‘
Allahu Akbar
’ ringing in their ears.

Shepherd helped Raj sit up then fetched him a glass of tea. ‘Drink,’ he said. ‘You need the liquid.’

Raj sipped the tea. ‘Where’s he gone?’

‘I’m not sure. But I am sure that you need to eat and drink as much as you can because I’m not sure when we’ll be offered either again.’

Raj took a bite of chicken and this time managed to swallow some. Shepherd grabbed a handful of lamb and began chewing on it. He had swallowed three pieces when the door opened. It was Al-Farouq. Behind him was a guard holding a Kalashnikov. The guard stepped to the side and four heavyset bearded men rushed in. They grabbed Shepherd and Raj and roughly dragged them out of the room.

The phone rang and Button put on her headset. ‘That number is live,’ said Yokely. ‘How good is your source that the number belongs to Al-Farouq?’

‘I’d stake my life on it, Richard.’

‘I’m going to need specifics.’

‘It’s the channel for an imam in Bradford to contact Al-Farouq. Rarely used but obviously when contact is necessary it has to be done quickly. The only way to get the number is through a secure website and the Sim card is changed every twelve hours. Where is the phone?’

‘About ten miles to the west of Peshawar,’ said Yokely. ‘Capital of what used to be called the North-West Frontier Province.’

Button went over to the map on the wall and traced the route that Salma’s contact had been taking out of Islamabad. ‘The car was heading that way, Richard.’

‘Yes, I know.’

‘It’s Al-Farouq. It has to be.’

‘If the contact is going to see Al-Farouq, why didn’t they phone?’

‘Because the cellphone is only to be used by the imam in Bradford. He’s staying off the grid in Pakistan, but he probably figures any incoming call from overseas is probably OK, especially if they call on Skype.’ She stared at the map. ‘Peshawar is close to the border, Richard. Very close.’

‘It’s still a border, Charlotte. If we go in, we have to be sure.’

‘I am sure, Richard. But we have to move quickly. Al-Haznawi is probably only an hour away from Peshawar. If we’re going to do it, it has to be now. As soon as Al-Haznawi reaches Al-Farouq, they’ll move locations again.’

‘I know, I know,’ said Yokely. He sighed, clearly weighing his options. ‘OK, we’ll do it,’ he said. ‘What’s the worst that can happen? Both our careers crash and burn?’

‘It’ll be fine, Richard. Trust me.’

‘God bless, Charlotte.’

‘God bless.’

The line went dead. ‘They’re going in?’ asked Singh.

Button nodded. ‘They are.’

Harper was rolling Shakeel Usmani’s corpse up in the plastic sheet when his mobile rang. He stood up and smiled at Ullah as he took the call. He had shoved a piece of rag into the imam’s mouth and held it in place with duct tape. It was Charlotte Button. ‘You’re a star,’ she said.

‘It worked?’

‘It worked. The SEALs are going in now.’

‘Fingers crossed,’ he said.

‘Amen to that. What are your plans now?’

‘I’ll clear up here and get back to Thailand.’

‘I’ll be in touch.’

‘I’m sure you will,’ said Harper. The line went dead and Harper put the phone into his back pocket.

The imam stared at Harper with fearful eyes. ‘So now you can let me go?’ he asked hopefully.

‘I’m afraid it’s not as simple as that,’ said Harper. He smiled, took out his gun and shot the imam in the chest, three times. ‘
Allahu akbar
,’ he said as the imam bled out.

Adam Croft took long, slow breaths, trying to get his pulse rate down to a manageable level. He wasn’t scared, but he was apprehensive. There was a big difference mentally but the physical symptoms were the same; a fast heart rate, rising blood pressure and increased respiration. It was coming up for 1900 hours and sunset was only minutes away.

The eight SEALs in the fuselage of the Lockheed C-130 Hercules were all dressed in black and kitted out with full high-altitude parachute life-support equipment. They each carried their own air supply but they were still fifty miles from the drop zone so were breathing from the plane’s internal supply. Even just a few minutes without oxygen at thirty thousand feet would lead to hypoxia and unconsciousness. The cold was also a problem. The four-engine turboprop plane wasn’t heated and the SEALs wore black thermal suits with felt liners and polypropylene knit undergarments to protect themselves against the sub-zero temperatures at high altitude. There was a digital thermometer at the cockpit end of the fuselage giving the temperature at minus forty degrees Fahrenheit. They also wore black balaclavas, gloves and insulated over-boots on top of their regular boots. On top of their heads were goggles that would protect their eyes against the freezing wind on the way down.

Jake Drake was sitting opposite Croft. Like most of the SEALs he was leaning slightly forward so that his parachute didn’t rub against the fuselage. Drake was a three-tour veteran of Afghanistan, and had been wounded twice. Shrapnel from an IED had taken out a piece of the calf of his left leg, and a bullet had grazed his right shoulder. The two near-misses had earned him the nickname ‘Lucky Ducky’ but it wasn’t a nickname that Drake appreciated so it tended not to get used when he was around.

Henderson was sitting next to Drake. He caught Croft looking at him and he grinned. He was clearly looking forward to the jump. Henderson was an adrenalin junkie, no question. Croft had been with him in firefights and Henderson always seemed to come alive when the bullets were flying. The closer the bullets flew, the more Henderson seemed to enjoy it. Croft loved being a SEAL and the physical and mental challenges that came with the career, but there was no getting away from the fact that his sphincter had a tendency to tighten in combat. Maybe it was an age thing. Croft was thirty-five, which in the SEALs had him on the wrong side of middle-aged, whereas Henderson had a couple of years to go before he hit thirty. Neither men was married – few SEALs were – but Croft had a steady girlfriend that one day he hoped to settle down with, while Henderson pretty much had a girl in every port.

Croft grinned back and made an OK sign. Henderson’s grin widened and he returned the gesture.

Croft looked down towards the tail of the plane, where the jumpmaster and his three loaders were making the final checks to the plastic pods that contained the six 4 × 4 All Terrain Vehicles they would be using on the ground. The jumpmaster was Jim Grant, a grizzled veteran with a quarter of a century’s service under his belt. Like the three younger men assisting him he was wearing light blue fatigues and sneakers and breathing from the plane’s air supply. Each of the men was linked to the fuselage by a thick green nylon strap attached to a webbing harness.

Like the SEALs, the pods were fitted with self-opening chutes using the Cybernetic Parachute Release System that would open at seven hundred feet above the ground. The pods weren’t steerable so they would be jettisoned first and the SEALs would do their best to land in close proximity to them. The system’s computer also had a GPS, which meant that the SEALs would be able to track the pods if they did land some distance away.

Grant looked up and flashed him the OK sign. Croft nodded. He rolled his shoulders. He had only been sitting for a couple of hours or so but the interior hadn’t been designed for passenger comfort and his back and neck were already throbbing. He could see the rest of the team were just as uncomfortable. They were sitting on metal frames that were attached to the fuselage. On their laps were the black nylon operation bags containing their equipment. The bags were clipped to their harnesses but would be released just before they landed. They cradled their weapons on top of the bags, barrels pointing down. Croft favoured a Heckler & Koch 416, though several of the men preferred the FN SCAR standard assault rifle, chambered for the 7.62 × 51mm NATO-calibre round and fitted with a standard sixteen-inch barrel. All were fitted with noise suppressors.