'Of course,' Elliott nodded. 'My office. Come on.'
They walked along the corridor in silence until they came to a door with Elliott's name on it. He held it open. 'Come on in, Will.'
Steve Elliott's office was very familiar to Will. He'd lost count of the number of unofficial debriefs that had taken place here. It was a typical military office — sparse, cold even. On the wall was an old picture of Elliott in the days when he was a squadron leader: his nose wasn't broken then and he looked somehow more innocent, less ravaged by the stress of the job and the passing years. But it was clearly the same man, the same steely resolve in his eyes.
Elliott took a seat behind his desk — a plain table with a telephone and a few papers scattered over it — while Will sat in the seat opposite.
'Can I get you something?' Elliott asked. 'A coffee — '
'Nothing. Thanks,' Will replied. 'Look, boss, I know you tried to get in contact with me a while ago. I'm sorry I — '.
Elliott held up his hand. 'Nothing to apologise for, Will,' he said briskly, and Will nodded in gratitude. 'Christ only knows what you must have been going through,' the commander continued. 'Everyone here was more shocked than I can tell you. You expect to lose people when you're out on ops, but — ' His voice trailed off. Will had the impression that Elliott knew he was saying nothing that hadn't gone through Will's own mind a million times.
'Thank you, sir,' he said quietly.
They sat in silence for a moment.
'I'm surprised to see you here,' Elliott said finally.
'Not as surprised as I am to be here.'
'Pankhurst told me I'm to give you anything you need and that transport was being arranged to the NATO base in Kandahar. But he didn't tell me much else. Care to elaborate on your away break to the Stan?'
Will looked at his old friend. Elliott was smiling at him, leaning back comfortably in his chair. He looked relaxed, but Will could sense his intrigue, sense that he was desperate to find out what was going on. But as he sat there, Lowther Pankhurst's words rang in his head: We can't afford to trust anyone. He might not like the guy, but when the Director General of MI5 tells you to be suspicious, you'd better be suspicious.
'Sorry, boss,' he said calmly. 'I'm afraid I can't tell you that.'
Elliott's eyes narrowed slightly. 'We go back a long way, Will. I'd like to think we're friends. But I have to tell you this: it's a brave soldier who keeps his CO in the dark.'
The veiled threat hung there between them. Elliott clearly did not like the fact that Pankhurst had not told him nearly as much as he would have expected.
'I'm sorry, boss,' Will replied. 'I'm not a soldier. Not any more.'
'But you still think of yourself as one, Will. Why else would you still be calling me "boss"?'
'Old habits die hard, I guess.'
Elliott shrugged. 'Rumours that you're back at Credenhill will be buzzing around already, Will,' he pressed on. 'You're quite a celebrity around here, you know. Even now. If word gets out that you're just a puppet for Five, things could get nasty for you.'
Will couldn't tell from Elliott's demeanour if that was a threat or a warning. Either way, he knew his response had to be the same. 'I won't be around long enough for that to make any difference to me,' he said firmly. 'I'm sorry, boss, but I'm past caring about Credenhill gossip. I'm here to put together a team. I can't tell you what we're doing, not until the operation is over. Probably not even then.'
'All right, Will,' Elliott conceded. 'I have my orders from Five. They tell me you need three men.'
Will nodded. 'We'll be going cross-country into southern Afghanistan. It's going to be snowing and if things go as they should we'll have one hostage who won't be in very good shape, so I need at least one person well trained in cold-weather survival. If any of them have had active service in Afghanistan, so much the better. Sharpshooters, well versed in escape and evasion. I need the best, boss.'
Elliott pressed his fingers together and looked at his former employee as though sizing him up.
'All right, Will,' he said finally. 'The lads we've selected will fit the bill. But maybe one day you'll let me know what this is all about.' He picked up the phone on his desk and dialled a short number. 'Let Major Adams know we're ready for him,' he told whoever was at the other end. 'We'll be there in a few minutes.' He replaced the phone on to its cradle.
'Thank you,' Will said, quietly.
Elliott shrugged and an awkward silence fell on the room. Eventually the Half Colonel spoke. 'Listen, Will,' he said. 'I'm not trying to get you to tell me what you're doing, but if you're planning on heading south from Kandahar, you need to be careful. I know you've had experience in Afghanistan; I know you understand how fucked up that place is. But things are different there now. More dangerous, especially in the south. I'm sure you're aware that there are Taliban factions regrouping down there. They're well armed and, frankly, they're desperate. I've lost more men on covert ops in Afghanistan in the last eighteen months than I'd care to count.'
Will listened carefully — he knew Elliott didn't give warnings lightly.
'I've attended enough Regiment funerals this year, Will. Let's not have any more just before Christmas, eh?'
'I don't want funerals any more than you do, boss.'
'No,' Elliott said. 'I know. They said the operation was urgent and that you'd want to get to Afghanistan as soon as possible. When are you planning on leaving?'
Will looked momentarily down to the floor, then fixed Elliott with a determined stare.
'Transport's arranged for tonight,' he said. 'We don't have any time to lose.'
SIX
She had fallen asleep thinking of her brother. Thinking of the last time she had seen him, when his face had been so full of apprehension, his voice so full of urgency. 'You must flee, Latifa,' he had said. 'We must both flee. They have found out about me. It is only a matter of time before they come—'
And now, outside, the sun had set and all was dark, but night and day had no meaning to her in this place; they were just arbitrary markers that punctuated her suffering at regular intervals. She had been asleep for three hours — about the longest she ever managed before she was woken up by the cold or by her aching body. But it was neither of those things that roused her now. It was the sound of the door being unlocked — the sound that haunted her every living moment. She knew that whenever someone came through the door, something unpleasant was about to happen.
She was confused and disorientated in the dark, but gradually she became aware that there were men in the hut with her. Three, maybe four. As she stared around in fear through the veil of her burka, a light appeared at the door. Her eyes squinted with momentary pain as she saw the man with the scarred face in the doorway holding a flaming torch.
'Hold her down,' he said harshly.
Suddenly there were firm hands on her limbs. She screamed once, but then she found herself unable to make another sound as terror froze her throat. There were definitely four men holding her — she realised that as she was pressed firmly on to the hard earth. She tried to struggle, but the men were too strong.
Looking up she saw the one with the torch standing over her. 'Where is he?' he asked calmly.
'I have told you a thousand times,' she spat, 'I don't know!' Once more she tried to struggle; once more she was held down.
The man with the torch knelt beside her. He removed the thin shoes she was wearing, then deliberately lowered the burning flame and touched it to the sole of her right foot. She screamed in agony as he held it there for a number of seconds. When he removed it she was whimpering breathlessly, but she screamed a second time when he touched the torch to her other foot.