A whole swathe of the city around the Gandamack was suddenly plunged into darkness. Even the embassies were affected. Then, one by one, lights came back on as their emergency generators kicked in.
It was pitch black up here, excepting the odd glimmer from an oil lamp spilling under a door or past the sacks most houses used as curtains. A couple of dogs barked at each other in the distance. Apart from that there was no sign of life as the road wound upwards.
I came across two knackered American school buses, painted white with UNHCR stencilling, parked on a tight hairpin. A stretch of hillside close by had been scooped out to make way for a big brick building. A blue board drilled into the concrete-block wall announced that I'd arrived at the UN school.
Magreb's Hiace was tucked in by the wall. Any of the five or six nearby houses could have been his.
I kept climbing, fingers crossed that his mobile was taped to his ear while he slept.
It was another fifteen minutes before I came parallel with the target house. Not even a pinprick of light leaked from the boarded-up windows.
The 4x4 was still outside, and didn't seem to have moved.
I carried on past, until I was sure I was out of line of sight of both the house and the Turks on the summit. Either might be on stag and equipped with night-viewing aids.
I slipped behind one of the Russian wrecks and changed. When the Gunga Din kit was back in the Bergen, I prepared the weapon.
A magazine was already loaded into the pistol grip. I pulled back on the cocking handle and the working parts stayed to the rear as I slid it back to the forward position. There would now be a round poking up from the magazine, ready to be snatched when I squeezed the trigger and the bolt went forward. I hoped I wouldn't have to use it. The ejection system was so poorly designed that, with the working parts held to the rear, the ejector-opening became a fucking big hole just waiting to suck in all kinds of shit and give you a stoppage.
I shoved the hotel torch into the front pocket of my trousers and a spare mag into each of the back ones. I felt in my sock for the cash and the Stevens passport. Finally I shouldered the Bergen, pulling the waist strap tight, and held the weapon vertically at my side to hide its silhouette. After a couple of jumps to check for noise, I started back downhill.
My mind was zoned in. The only thing in my head now was getting inside the target. And after that, nothing would matter but getting Dom out.
73
The target house, still in darkness, loomed on my left. Down in the valley, most of the Gandamack district was still plunged into darkness. The only ambient light up here came from the stars.
I walked carefully up to the wagon, bent down and touched its exhaust. It was cooler than the rocks after a day in the sun. A couple more dogs got pissed off with each other further up the hill.
I picked my way along the pathway towards the rear, lifting and lowering my feet in a slow-motion moon walk. I didn't want this to go noisy. There could be half a platoon inside for all I knew.
The back door was dead centre, like the front, with a window each side of it and three across the floor above. I stopped at the first window. It was boarded on the inside by what looked like scaffold planks. Whoever was in here was very determined to keep the rest of the world outside.
A key turned in the door.
I dropped to my knees and brought the weapon up, pushed the safety to its first click and squeezed my hand hard against the pistol-grip safety.
The door creaked open. Torchlight flooded out into the yard.
A shout came from deep inside the house. 'Shut that fucking door — keep the heat in, will ya?' The voice was American, and not sober.
The door opened wider. 'Yeah, yeah, fucking yeah.' This one spoke a lot like me. Joey and I were about to be introduced.
I lowered the Mini-Ero and laid it on the ground, then closed my hand round a rock.
A figure emerged, silhouetted in his own torchlight. His left hand was still on the door handle and he had something clutched in the right.
I jumped to my feet and grabbed whatever I could of him as the door slammed shut. I brought the rock down as hard and fast as I could. It hit the top of Joey's head with a dull crack. He groaned and I pulled him towards me, trying to control his fall. I toppled backwards with him on top of me, my Bergen taking the brunt. A long, matted beard covered my face and his blood trickled into my ear.
Joey was fucked and drowsy but not completely unconscious. A roll of toilet paper had dropped from his hand and flapped in the wind like a kite tail.
He groaned again as he started to come round. I smashed the rock against the back of his skull, rolled him over and brought it down a couple more times for good measure. The wind carried the sound of his death up the hill.
I patted him for keys, sat back and wiped his blood from my face and ear, then retrieved the Mini-Ero. I took out my torch, stepped back to the door.
Two deep breaths and I eased it open, weapon in my right hand, web pushing against the safety grip, finger on the trigger.
Immediately I smelt cannabis. I brought the torch up to the weapon and gripped it against the barrel so I'd be able to see what I was firing at.
The American kicked off the moment I moved inside. 'Turn that fucking light off, will ya?'
74
The room took up maybe two-thirds of the ground floor. There was a concrete staircase to the right.
I stayed behind the torch. Four sleeping-bags lay on roll mats. Three were occupied. A ginger head stuck out of one. I jerked the beam in his direction and he screwed up his eyes. Noah was not pleased. It really wasn't his night. 'Jesus, will you turn that fucking thing off?' A joint dangled from his lips as he spoke.
The other two bodies looked like maggots and were totally out of it. Scattered around them were syringes, spoons, all the rest of the paraphernalia, and a variety of weapons.
I could have just fired. But I needed to find out if Dom was there and get him out. I'd only deal with these guys if I had to. It would bring ISAF down like a ton of bricks — and, besides, I might lose.
I pushed the door closed with my foot. There was another near the staircase, leading to the remaining third of the ground floor. I headed towards it.
Noah's joint glowed in the darkness.
'Hey, Joey, man! Get me a Mars, will you?'
It was only a makeshift kitchen. No sink or oven, just some bottled water on a table next to a couple of butane gas rings, and a pile of dirty pots. Another table boasted a week's worth of half-eaten food, liberally punctured with dog ends, on a couple of haphazard piles of metal plates.
The torchbeam hit on a box of Mars bars.
'You picking the fucking cocoa beans, man?' Noah definitely had the munchies.
A reply of sorts came from upstairs. Moans and murmurs of pain. A stifled sob.
'Shut the fuck up, cunts, or it'll be beasty-beasty time again,' Noah yelled, then chuckled to himself.
I grabbed a Mars bar and stepped back into the room. I threw it to him, then swung the torch up the staircase.
The wrapper rustled. 'Yeah, go on, Joey. Strut your stuff, dude.'
As he chuckled some more, I followed the torchlight up. The smell was terrible, a mixture of sweat and shit and stale cannabis.
The beam illuminated a bare hallway with a door left and right. Another at the far end was heavily padlocked.
A pool of water had seeped under the door to the left. I switched off the torch. There was no light from under any of them. I switched it back on.
Weapon up, I stood in the puddle as I closed my other hand round the plastic handle. The moment it was ajar, I was hit by the stench of human shit.