'I'm going to deal with Ismail,' he said, calmly.
'Don't be a fucking idiot,' Kennedy snapped. 'Look, Anderson was a friend and I'm sorry he's dead. But we're lucky we're not all in two pieces like him and we haven't got the time for revenge killings. We all leave together. Now.'
Will's face stiffened. Kennedy was right, of course. With Anderson down, all they had to think about was the mission: their priority was to get Latifa the hell out of here and that was what they should be doing. But somehow Will couldn't quite see it that way; and besides, there was another reason for putting a bullet in Ismail's skull.
'They'll find out that we've gone before long,' he said. 'When they do, they'll want to follow us. Ismail knows where we're headed. I need to stop him from telling them.'
Kennedy looked unconvinced. 'He's probably told them already. We need to expect a surprise party when we get to the truck.'
'But if he hasn't,' Will replied, 'we don't want them following us. I need to deal with it.'
Kennedy shrugged his shoulders. 'It's your fucking skin,' he said, before turning to Latifa. 'Can you get on my back?' he asked.
Latifa just stared at him.
'Fuck it,' Kennedy murmured, picking her up in his arms. 'Don't think I'm carrying her all the way.'
A flicker of a smile passed across Drew's face. ''Course not,' he murmured. 'Listen, we entered the village from the west, so I don't think we should leave that way. Let's head north, then skirt round to the west.' He looked out into the barren snowscape beyond the village. 'That way,' he pointed.
Kennedy grunted in agreement.
'How long do you need here?' Drew asked Will.
Will shrugged. 'Twenty minutes max,' he said.
'Right. We'll wait at the truck for half an hour. If you haven't shown by then, we're leaving.'
'Roger that,' Will nodded, then watched as the two SAS men and the shivering woman disappeared into the darkness.
The hut into which Will had seen Ismail disappear was at the opposite corner of the main square, but he couldn't risk heading straight there — he would be too exposed, easily picked off by anyone with a weapon. So he crept around the edge, keeping to the shadows and treading as softly as he could. He felt strangely naked without his snowsuit. Light. Already the chill had started to penetrate to his skin, but he did his best to put that from his mind. Keep moving, he told himself. Keep moving and you'll be OK.
His footsteps crunched in the snowy ground, but other than that there was no sound as he approached the hut he had seen Ismail enter. It was built on top of a concrete foundation block perhaps half a metre high and it had posts at regular intervals around it, which held the flat roof up. There was a wooden door on one side, but a quick recce around the building told him that there were no windows or any other mode of entry. He stood by the door for a moment, holding his breath as he strained his ears to hear any sound from within.
Nothing.
Will stepped to one side of the door, put his back against the wall, then used the barrel of his Diemaco to rap on the wood. Tap-tap-tap. Quietly, but loud enough for anyone inside to hear.
Still nothing.
He tapped again. This time there was a shuffling inside, then silence.
Will waited. He couldn't risk barging in — it would make too much noise and he would be an instant target in the doorway. No, he'd have to wait for anyone inside to come to him and if that didn't happen, he'd have to abort.
His breath steamed in the cold air as he continued to press himself against the wall.
More shuffling. Someone was approaching the door. He could sense they were just on the other side now and he thought he could hear a faint click — the sound of a weapon being readied.
The door opened.
It all happened in a couple of seconds. As the door edged open, Will saw a handgun appear in the crack. Instantaneously he brought the barrel of his own gun down fiercely on to the hand; there was a whimper of pain and the gun fell to the ground. Will barged in, pushing the figure roughly to the floor, and kicking the door shut behind him.
What little light there was inside the hut came from a small, smoky lamp with a flickering yellow flame. It sat on a wooden table; elsewhere there were a couple of stools and a yellowing mattress rolled out in one corner. And on the floor, staring up at Will with a look of such abject fear as the SAS man had never seen in his life, was Ismail.
Will raised the Diemaco and aimed it directly at the head of the terrified Afghan.
'The man those bastards killed had a family,' he whispered. 'Thanks to you, someone's father won't be coming home.'
Ismail shuffled on his back away from him, but Will kept the gun aimed steadily at his head.
'I had no choice,' Ismail whispered. 'I promise you, I had no choice!'
'Don't give me that shit. Of course you had a choice. Them or us. It's very simple.'
Ismail closed his eyes, clearly preparing himself for the end to come. 'They found out two days ago that I was informing against them,' he stuttered. 'They abducted my wife and my little boy. They said they would kill them if I did not do as they said.' He opened his eyes again. 'They were serious,' he said with a sudden and simple conviction.
Will felt his lip curling. 'I don't believe you,' he growled, though in his heart he knew that Ismail's words had the desperate ring of truth.
Ismail was shaking now and his skin was sweating despite the cold. 'How did you break out?' he asked.
Will remained silent.
'It doesn't matter,' Ismail whispered. 'If you escape, they will kill me anyway, and my family. But not before torturing me first to see if I know where you have gone. My family is as good as dead. Perhaps it is best that you end it all for me now.' He closed his eyes again and took a deep breath.
Will's finger hesitated on the trigger. Whether Ismail was telling the truth or not, he was a liability to the safety of their mission. He should plug him now. Silence him. Make sure he could not tell the Taliban where to look for them. But something stopped him. Silently he cursed himself. Two years ago he wouldn't have given this a second thought; if Drew or Kennedy were in his position now, Ismail would already be dead.
'Did you tell them?' he asked, quietly. 'Where the truck is, I mean.'
Ismail looked up at him. 'No. Not yet. But they asked me if I knew where it was. I will do my best not to take them,' he replied. 'But I am not a strong man. I am not like you and your friends. I cannot guarantee that I will be able to withstand their tortures. You must either kill me or leave quickly before they realise you have gone.'
The Afghan's ultimatum hung in the air. He continued to shiver, his whole body consumed with trembling.
'You're coming with me,' Will stated, firmly.
An uneasy smile came on to Ismail's frightened face, and he shook his head. 'I cannot,' he whispered. 'If I do that it would be like pulling the trigger on my family myself. You do not perhaps understand quite what the Taliban are capable of.'
'I've got a pretty fucking good idea,' Will murmured, almost to himself. He thought for a moment before speaking again. 'Get up against the wall,' he said, quietly. His Diemaco was still pointing directly at Ismail's head.
For a moment Ismail didn't move. But then he nodded his head fearfully and shuffled backwards.
Once he was pressed against the wall, Will stepped back. He opened the door with one hand. 'Stay there,' he told Ismail, before turning and stepping outside.
The Sig handgun that he had given the Afghan and which only a minute earlier he had knocked from his hands was still lying in the snow. He bent down, picked it up and stepped back inside. Ismail was still huddled against the wall. Will placed the gun on the table.
'If you're not going to come with me, then you're on your own. Use this to defend yourself when they come for you.'