He pulled out a canvas bag, dumped it on to the snowy ground, then climbed into the back of the truck. Once inside, he pulled up a metal panel to reveal a storage area, then grabbed a clinking handful of metal. 'Snow chains,' he said. 'Ismail will not tell me where he is taking you, but it is possible that you may need these. Also there is a — ' he seemed to struggle to find the word '- a winch, in case the vehicle comes off the road. The driving conditions south of here are not good. There are also extra tanks of diesel fuel for you.'
'Thank you,' Will said, sincerely. Sami was a typical fixer — no-nonsense, helpful. It angered him that the guy had to put up with an idiot like Rankin. 'You're a lot more help than he was.'
Sami inclined his head. 'I have noticed that a tour of duty in Afghanistan brings out the worst in people,' he observed. 'I do not judge him too harshly. We should ask your driver to take us somewhere where you and your men can change. Kandahar is not far from here, but the road can be slow in this weather.'
'I'll need some local currency,' Will told him.
'I have it here. I suggest I distribute it once you are changed.'
Will nodded and they made their way back to the truck, where brief introductions were made. There was no small talk.
The young RAF soldier drove them to a small hangar which he explained had been requisitioned for the use of British servicemen at the airbase. They attracted some curious looks as, carrying their weapons case, they were led to a private area where they could change their clothes, but they shrugged all that off. Maybe the rumour had gone round that an SAS unit was on site; maybe it hadn't. Whatever the cause of those funny looks, the four of them were too focussed on the job ahead to give them any thought.
The clothes Sami had provided were rough and cheaply made, but they were at least warm. There was no point trying to make themselves look like Afghans, but if they could avoid people thinking they were soldiers it would make what they had to do in central Kandahar more straightforward; and the fact that they all had beards was a help. Once they had picked up the contact, they would be able to change back into their cold-weather gear, which would be more suitable for the journey south. Will donned a pair of thick trousers made from a scratchy, Hessian-type material, a warm woollen jumper and a colourful Afghan hat; the others dressed similarly. They each attached holsters under their clothes — Anderson, Drew and Kennedy had chosen shoulder holsters, but Will had always found a waist holster to be more comfortable. He took the Sig 230 from the weapons case, loaded it, then hid it neatly under his jumper. They carefully stowed grenades and ammunition into their rucksacks, then loaded their Diemacos and slung them across their backs. Once they were ready, Sami took a bundle of afghani, the currency of the country, and handed them around.
By the time they were ready to leave, the snow was falling even more thickly. Junior Technician Evans drove them back to the hut where Sami's truck was waiting, then left them to it as Sami and the unit loaded their things on to the new vehicle, stowing the Minimi and the grenade launchers into the compartment alongside the snow chains, the winch and the spare diesel. Sami looked at the Diemacos slung across their shoulders. 'I would stow those away,' he told them. 'They will only attract attention. You have your handguns, do you not?'
Sami was right. If they wanted to merge into the background, they couldn't walk around the streets of Kandahar with heavy weaponry on display. Will nodded curtly to the others and they stowed their guns as Sami took the driving seat.
It was about fifteen miles from the airport to the town of Kandahar and the snow was falling heavily. Occasionally a rocky mound would rise up out of the earth, but apart from these solitary hills, the immediate area was flat and featureless. The roads were nearly deserted — whether that was because of the snow or because people were keeping off the road in this dangerous part of the world, it was impossible to say. Now and then Will noticed an ordinary Afghan by the side of the road, struggling on foot through the snow; it didn't escape his notice how many of them had elderly AK-47s strapped across their backs. When they heard the truck approaching, they always stopped and watched, unsmiling, as it passed. This was hostile territory.
Sami drove slowly and carefully. It took more than an hour. As they travelled, Will gave the unit their orders. 'I'll be going in alone,' he said. 'If the four of us barge into this café, we're going to attract attention and if our contact is as jumpy as that idiot back at the airfield says, we can't risk scaring him off.'
'We should cover you,' Anderson suggested. 'Take up positions outside the café, in case anything goes wrong.'
Will thought for a moment. In a situation like this it was all too easy to get cocky, to assume that because this was the relatively straightforward part of the operation, nothing could go wrong. It would be a mistake and Anderson was right to suggest that Will needed a bit of back-up.
He pointed at Anderson and Kennedy. 'You two,' he said, 'follow me at a distance. Keep it subtle — I don't want our guy taking fright.' He looked at Drew. 'You,' he said, 'stay with the truck. Once I've made contact, that will be the RV point.'
The three men nodded their agreement as the vehicle trundled towards Kandahar. Will pulled the slip of paper Sami had given him from his pocket and committed the double password to memory.
— Do you have the time?
— My watch runs slow these days.
— I know a good watchmaker in Kabul.
— Kabul is a long journey in the winter.
Once he was sure he had firmly remembered the words, he spoke to Sami.
'Tell me more about this Ismail character. If he's going to be coming with us, I want to know who we're dealing with.'
'Very well,' Sami replied, politely. 'I will tell you what I know. He is about twenty-eight years of age and his parents were imprisoned by the Taliban when he was about seventeen. My understanding is that a sarinda — an Afghan musical instrument — was found in their house, which was considered sinful by the regime. They both died in prison. Ismail, I would say, is a very clever young man, but nervous at the best of times. After his parents were imprisoned, he followed the Taliban's rules to the letter, as most people did, so that he would not be destined for the same fate. He took a wife, whom I have never met, and I believe they have a young son.'
'How did you manage to recruit him?'
Sami shrugged. 'In the usual way,' he replied. 'A mixture of gentle persuasion and money. The people here are very poor — they will do many things for a few extra dollars and Ismail has a family to keep. I imagine he caught the eye of the Taliban insurgents because he is a very devout man and now they believe he acts as one of their — ' Sami seemed to struggle for the word. 'Sneaks,' he settled on, finally. 'But his devotion does not, happily, extend to the kind of extremism they espouse. I truly believe he thinks that informing on them is a holy act, no matter how scared it might make him feel; the money is just an added bonus. He has been very useful, too. So useful that I do not think all of the information he supplies is acted upon, simply in order to maintain his cover.' Sami glanced over his shoulder at Will. 'Someone in your government must want this woman he knows about very badly. They have instructed that we pay him a great deal of money to lead you to wherever it is that she is being held.'