“That doesn’t sound much like a Pakistani name,” Jonny said.
“Nothing gets past you, does it?” Hart said.
“Aye, he’s a sharp one,” Mack said. “Would this scumbag be British by any chance?”
“No,” Imran Zafar said, moving into the light of the projection. “Campbell is a Canadian national who is wanted in his own country and the United States for massive drugs trafficking offences.”
“He picked some nice new friends to start over,” Cairo said.
“Akmetov pays him the sort of money that makes everything else irrelevant,” said Hart. “Especially if you’re persona non grata in your homeland. As far as we’re concerned he’s pretty much our only way to Akmetov.”
“How so?” Hudson asked.
“Akmetov knows he’s on our Most Wanted and he constantly circulates his location, moving between various mansions and heavily-defended compounds almost every week. He doesn’t sleep in the same bed for more than a few days.”
Another wisecrack occurred to Cairo, but she was young and not entirely sure Imran Zafar or Peter Everard looked like they would share her humor so she kept it to herself.
“I knew a girl like that,” Mack said loudly, and everyone laughed.
Seeing everyone’s reaction to the gag made Cairo curse herself for not having the courage to say her own joke which had been even funnier.
“From what Imran here has gathered,” Hart continued, “Akmetov is currently in one of three locations.”
An image of a heavily-bombed compound in the Afghan desert flicked on the screen.
“Total devastation,” Hudson said.
“If you think that’s bad you should see where I grew up,” Mack said with a snort. Another chuckle and Mack casually scratched the silver stubble on his chin.
“This place is the first of the possible locations — a town in the Washer district, and this is the second possible location.” Hart flicked an image of another town on the screen, this time it was untouched by allied artillery and beside a wide river.
She changed the image again. “And this is the final place he could be…” Now they looked at a large compound full of flat-topped buildings scattered at various places within a high perimeter wall, all situated in front of an enormous range of snowcapped mountains. “It’s in the Garmser district in the far south of Helmand. Wherever he is, he travels with lots of armed men. We can’t be sure of his forces, but we know most of them are former Russian soldiers mixed with some Kazakh gangsters.”
“So what’s the plan?” Fleming asked.
“Dagger Strike will be composed of two four-man British units and two US Navy SEALs — the Americans are keen to have someone in the field on this one but they’ll join us after we have the location of Akmetov himself. The SBS will be composed of me, George here, plus two of our men already in the field,” she turned to the young naval officer. “Michaels and Sparrow, right?”
Fleming nodded.
“And the SAS contingent is all here — Captain Hudson, Lieutenant Sloane, Sergeant Donald and Trooper Lane. These two squads are ordered to capture Akmetov if possible, but if not then take him out. It’s that simple.”
“What’s the first step?” Hudson asked.
Hart switched off the laptop and the room went dark. “We pay a visit to Kevin Campbell.”
PART TWO
This time they drove in two Escalades — the SBS in the lead and following behind them Cairo Sloane and the rest of the SAS squad. There had been much talk of the rivalry and how important it was to be the first team to get to Akmetov, but they all knew they were fighting as one force.
Mack was at the wheel again and cursed as the Escalade in front pulled up and changed course for the third time. They had crossed Karachi and were now leaving its northern reaches. “They’re like fucking dolphins,” he said. “Fine as far as it goes while they’re under water, but put the wee bastards on dry land and they haven’t got a clue.”
A ripple of laughter went around the SAS Escalade but ended abruptly when they realized they had arrived in Campbell’s neck of the woods. The other Escalade pulled up in the shade of a nearby factory and then Hudson’s phone rang. He spoke for a few seconds and ended the call.
“That was the Commander,” he said, referring to Hart. “We’re to stay out of sight until nightfall in an hour, and then we go in. But there’s good news and bad news. Good news — latest satellite intel says our man is definitely in the property.”
“And the bad news?” Mack said.
“She only wants two of us to make up a team of four. Cairo and Jonny are backup.”
Cairo sighed. “Oh, for fu…”
“We’re not letting those Shaky Boats get the prize, Clive,” Mack said, talking about Hart and Fleming a few yards away in the other SUV. He climbed out of the car and padded over to the other Escalade. He returned a few moments later, got back in the SUV, pushed back into his seat and closed his eyes. “Cairo and Jonny are not back-up.”
“Eh?”
“Commander Hart agrees with me — both squads need to flex their muscles before the main strike on Akmetov. Wee Lassy here needs to get her hands dirty.”
“Hey!” Cairo said. “My hands are dirty enough!”
Hudson smiled but made no reply — Mack had more experience than any of the others on either squad and he was right — so instead he cranked his chair back a few notches and stretched his legs out. “What can a man do with sixty minutes?” he said, looking at his watch.
“I know what a woman can do with sixty minutes,” Cairo said from the back as she reached for her cigarettes. “So around half of that I guess.”
Jonny snorted and shook his head. “You really think you’re something, Cairo Sloane.”
“Better than thinking you’re nothing, Jonny Boy.”
“Ouch. got me.” Jonny pretended he’d been shot and fell back in his seat making strange gurgling noises.
And so it went on until the sun went down over the plains of Balochistan and Cairo started to drift off in the heat of the dying day. The next thing she knew Hud was waking her. She opened her eyes to see he was turned around in his seat and staring at her. “That was the Commander,” he said. “Time for our picnic.”
They split into two squads of three — Hart, Fleming and Jonny going to the front of the property while Cairo, Hud and Mack went to the rear. Armed with an array of weapons ranging from Glocks to Mack’s trusty Remington shotgun, they were ready for anything. Now, Cairo felt her heart quicken as she moved swiftly but silently along a dusty alley running behind Campbell’s property. She pulled her weapon and jogged along behind Mack and Hudson as they approached the south wall of the compound. Hart’s voice came through her earpiece.
“Nothing going on around the front.”
“Quiet as a grave here, Guv,” Mack said.
Cairo ran alongside the two much more experienced men, gripping her gun with her hands for all her life was worth. She was a fully-trained SAS officer with several years before that as an officer in the Parachute Regiment, but being out on the streets of a place like Karachi with no back-up was different from Sandhurst or Hereford.
Very different. Now, over the sound of her stifled breathing came the Maghrib, or the sunset call to prayer. The sound of the muezzin echoed over the rooftops as they made their way closer to Campbell. An image of her family home raced through her mind… the safety of the garden, the protection of its rose-covered walls… and then she was dragged back into the moment by the sound of gunshots.
Hart’s voice came over the airwaves again. “Man down! Man down!” They all knew that meant Fleming, and then more automatic gunfire followed her words. Half a second later Mack blasted the back gate into matchwood with the Remington.