Firefight

'And yet,' Ahmed replied,'here I am. You have been clever, Will. Cleverer than I have given you credit for.' There was something about the way Ahmed addressed him in so familiar a fashion that made Will feel very uncomfortable. 'Could it be that there is something you want me to do for you first, Will? Something you cannot do yourself?'

'You've got the idea, Ahmed,' Will replied. 'So go ahead. In your own time.'

'What the hell are you both talking about?' Priestley demanded, his voice urgent. 'Jackson, do it!' He took a step forward. 'Kill him!'

'If you make another move,' Will hissed at him, 'I'll kill you myself.'

Priestley stopped still and his eyes widened as a sudden realisation hit him. 'What do you mean?' he whispered.

'I would have thought it was clear,' Ahmed replied. 'He wants revenge. He is, after all, only human. But it is not just me he blames for his family's death, Don. It is you, too, and rightly so. Am I right, Will?'

'Get on with it, Ahmed.'

'You see, Don, he cannot shoot you with impunity, so he is gambling that I will do it for him. He is gambling that I want you dead so badly that I am willing to make it the last thing I do before he takes his revenge on me. That is correct, is it not, Will?'

'Got it in one, Ahmed,' Will growled.

Priestley's eyes flickered, terrified, from one man to the other, and then towards the open door.

'You needn't worry,' Ahmed spoke, softly, 'that anyone is coming to save you. The cameras have been disabled and a loop of footage recorded earlier today is being transmitted out of here. An old CIA trick, Don — I'm a little surprised you didn't predict it.'

'This is madness—!' Priestley choked, but his outburst was cut short. Because as he spoke, Ahmed fired — not into his head, as Will had expected — but directly into his thigh. Ahmed's suppressed weapon let out a faint whistling thud and instantly the CIA man crumpled to the ground. Blood oozed on to the floor, but he didn't scream. Instead, he started shaking violently. Shock, Will told himself in a detached fashion. He'd seen the symptoms enough times to recognise them.

And then Ahmed spoke again. He still sounded calm and in control — it was not the voice of a man whose life was on the line. Will found himself wishing that he could see his face rather than just the back of his head, wishing that he could look into the man's eyes before he killed him.

'It seems,' Ahmed intoned, 'that I have been outmanoeuvred. My sister tried to warn me of this. She had more faith in your abilities than I did.'

Will remained silent. For some reason the mention of Latifa made him feel uneasy. Her devotion to her brother was complete and he could only imagine the feelings of hate she would harbour towards him when she found out that he had killed Ahmed.

At the side of the room, Priestley continued to tremble, little more than a frightened, wounded animal. The image of Laura and Anna lying dead on the ground flashed through Will's head.

'Your gamble has paid off,' Ahmed continued. 'I came here to assassinate Donald Priestley and I will not leave until that is done. If that means you're going to kill me, then so be it. In many ways it will be a release. But there is something I want you to do for me.'

Will blinked. 'You're not in a position to be asking me for favours, Ahmed.'

'It is not for me,' he whispered. 'But for my sister.'

Will paused. His target seemed unnaturally still. Unnaturally calm. It put Will even more on his guard. 'Go on.'

'When I am dead, there will be no one to look after her. She knows about Operation Firefight. The Americans will see her as a risk. They will try to eliminate her.'

For the first time, Will detected a sense of tension in Ahmed. His breathing was shallow and measured, but it trembled slightly.

'Operation Firefight has claimed enough victims, Will,' the Afghan continued. 'Your family to start with and now me. Latifa does not deserve to be next on that list. I do not blame you for killing me — in your position I would do the same. But if Latifa is right about you, then I think you will understand and I think you will do the right thing by her.'

Will found his hand trembling. He steadied it. 'Where is she?'

'In hiding. In a safe house. I have a mobile telephone in my pocket. You will find a number for her there. When you see her, tell her—' Ahmed's voice suddenly cracked with emotion, but he instantly conquered it. 'Tell her she was right. And tell her I am sorry.'

From the floor, Priestley whimpered — the first sound he had made since the bullet had entered his leg. His breathing was heavy and he seemed to be sweating.

'And I am truly sorry for you, too, Will,' Ahmed continued. 'It is no consolation, I know, but I understand what it is to lose your family. Your wife and daughter were not meant to die. No one was meant to die. It has haunted me ever since.'

Will gritted his teeth. 'Just do it, Ahmed,' he said.

Another whimper escaped Priestley's mouth, a sound of such horror that for an instant Will felt a twinge of sympathy.

And then the American spoke, the dreadful effort sounding clearly in the tone of his voice. 'It was Ahmed who killed your family, Will,' he wheedled.'Ahmed. Not me. You should kill him. Kill him now, Will.'

As Priestley spoke, all Will's sympathy was stripped away as he revealed himself for the sickening coward that he was.

'Shut up, Priestley!' he burst out. 'Just shut the fuck up! It's just a fucking game of soldiers to you, isn't it? Who cares if people die? My daughter was six years old. Six years old. How do you live with that, Priestley? How do you fucking live with that?'

Priestley's body was juddering now; his blood loss was copious. 'Will,' he breathed. 'You're angry — '

'Damn right I'm angry,' Will retorted, all his fury suddenly spilling out of him. 'I'm angry about Anderson, dead in some shit hole in the Stan. I'm angry about Drew and Kennedy, pushing up the fucking daisies thanks to this arsehole. I don't suppose you stopped to think about them, did you? A few dead soldiers don't mean much in the bigger picture, do they?'

'Will, please. I—'

'Save it, Priestley. I don't want to hear your justifications. I don't want to hear your excuses. Save it for the Pearly fucking Gates.' He nudged Ahmed in the back of his head with the gun. 'Do it,' he said.

Donald Priestley opened his mouth to save his life, but the words never left him. Faisal Ahmed's aim was perfect. The bullet entered Priestley's head directly between the eyes, ripping a hole in his forehead and creating a small, silent explosion of bone and soft brain matter. The CIA man fell dead to the floor.

An unholy quiet descended upon the room.

Will felt his finger twitch on the trigger of his gun, the weapon's barrel still pressed hard against Faisal Ahmed's skull. The Afghan lowered his gun. 'If you are going to kill me, Will, I would ask that you do it quickly.'

He took a deep breath. Now was the moment. The moment when the demons that had plagued him for the past two years could be laid, finally, to rest.

And yet, something was stopping him. Something was stopping him from pulling that trigger. He didn't know what it was — maybe he just didn't want to shoot a man from behind.

'Throw the gun to the ground,' he said.

Ahmed did as he was told. The weapon landed only inches from Priestley's body.

'Take two steps forward.'

Ahmed walked.

'Now put your hands on your head.'

Will watched as Ahmed slowly followed his instructions.

'Another three paces, then turn around.'

'It does not feel as I thought it would,' Ahmed said as he turned around. The sight of his face made Will catch his breath. His beard had been shaved off and he looked much younger than he had when they first met several nights ago. His eyes were piercing and clear and the only thing that suggested he felt any fear about what was about to happen was a thin trickle of sweat down the side of his face.