‘Roger that,’ said the Major.
‘I’ll text you the number of the Predator guy and he can give you a visual before you act,’ said Yokely. ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can. And try not to kill too many of them. They’re our only link to Wafeeq.’
‘And Geordie,’ said the Major. ‘Let’s not forget him.’
‘I hadn’t,’ said Yokely. ‘But the way things stand, the only way we’ll find him is if we get hold of Wafeeq.’
The Major put the phone away and twisted in his seat. ‘We’ve got to go in now,’ he said.
‘What’s happened?’ asked Muller.
‘Wafeeq came and went but he didn’t take Spider with him. That means one of two things. They’re going to deliver him later, or Wafeeq got spooked. We can’t take the risk so we’ve got to get him now.’ He unfolded the map Yokely had given him. ‘Let’s get out so we can all look at this,’ he said.
They climbed out of the Land Cruiser and the Major held the map on the bonnet. ‘We don’t have time for surveillance. We have to go straight in,’ he said. He stabbed his finger on the map and looked at Jordan. ‘We’re here,’ he said. He moved his finger to the farmland behind the house. ‘We can get to here without being seen from the house.’ He put the aerial photograph on top of the map. ‘That’s where he is. We can come in over the wall and through the back.’ Jordan nodded and slotted a stick of chewing-gum into his mouth.
‘What sort of firepower do they have?’ asked O’Brien.
‘We don’t know.’
‘How many of them?’
‘No idea.’
O’Brien’s brow furrowed. ‘Back-up?’
‘Just us,’ said the Major. ‘We go in fast and we go in hard. But as we’ll have to interrogate them to find out where Geordie is, we’ve got to keep casualties to a minimum.’
‘Why don’t we make it a real challenge and tie our hands behind our backs?’ said O’Brien.
‘No one said it was going to be easy, Martin,’ said the Major. He folded the map. ‘Let’s get to it.’
They piled back into the Land Cruiser and Jordan put his foot down hard on the accelerator. The Major talked to Shortt on the transceiver and told him to get to the house as soon as possible. Shortt took down the directions and reckoned they were fifteen minutes away.
The Major’s mobile phone beeped and he checked the screen. It was a text message from Yokely with a Baghdad mobile-phone number and a name. Simon Nichols. The Major called and introduced himself.
‘The house is quiet on the outside,’ said Nichols. ‘No one has entered or left since Wafeeq.’
‘We’re in a white Land Cruiser, heading south,’ said the Major. ‘We have another unit coming from the east, also a white Land Cruiser.’
‘I’ll keep an eye out for you,’ said Nichols, ‘and I’ll call you if anything happens at the house.’
The Major put the phone on the dashboard and took out his Glock.
Shepherd opened his eyes. His face was wet and when he took a breath he inhaled water. He shook his head and his eyes gradually focused. Straggly Beard was standing in front of him, holding a bucket. Shepherd had lost count of how many times they had suffocated him into unconsciousness. They kept the plastic bag on his head until he passed out, then threw water over him until he came round.
The tall man slapped him across the face. Shepherd spat to clear his mouth and bloody phlegm splattered across the floor.
‘Who are you?’ the man shouted.
‘Peter Simpson.’
‘Your real name.’
Shepherd coughed. ‘That is my real name.’ Shepherd knew that the questions meant nothing. The men weren’t interested in his answers. There was nothing he could tell them that would stop the torture.
The tall man walked towards him, holding the plastic bag. Shepherd moaned. He had lost all sense of time. The light was on and the shutter on the windows behind him was locked so he had no way of knowing if it was day or night. He felt as if the torture had been going on for ever. The bag was dragged down over his head and instinctively he held his breath even though he knew it would do no good. His chest began to heave and burn, he took a breath and the plastic filled his mouth.
The Land Cruiser screeched to a halt and the Major undid his seat-belt. He put the transceiver to his mouth and clicked the transmit button. ‘Jimbo, we’ve arrived.’
There was a buzz of static, then Shortt spoke: ‘We’re five minutes away, boss.’
‘We can’t wait,’ said the Major. ‘We’ll go in the back way. When you get here, come in from the front.’
‘Roger that,’ said Shortt.
The Land Cruiser had stopped on a dirt road. To the left an olive orchard with stubby trees stretched half a mile to the foot of a gently rounded hill. To the right the farmland was less well tended and was mainly rocky soil dotted with date palms. A herd of wild goats looked at the Land Cruiser, then went back to grazing on a clump of brown grass.
‘That’s the house,’ said the Major, pointing through the palms. Two hundred metres away there was a mud-coloured wall, about six feet high, and beyond it a house with a flat roof on top of which stood a large satellite dish.
Jordan put a pair of binoculars to his eyes. ‘I don’t see anyone,’ he said.
The Major phoned Simon Nichols, who told him that no one was outside or on the roof. The Major put away his phone. ‘Okay, let’s do it,’ he said.
The four men ran towards the wall, bent low, guns at the ready.
Shepherd groaned and opened his eyes, blinking. The man with the withered arm spoke in Arabic. Straggly Beard replied and they both looked at Shepherd. Their attitude had changed – Shepherd could see it in their eyes. Straggly Beard put down the bucket and went out of the room.
Withered Arm muttered to the tall guy, who grunted and nodded. Shepherd pulled at his wrists. There was no give in the rope but they weren’t planning to hurt him any more, he knew. They had come to the end of that phase. The two men were staring at him now. He stared back. He knew he could say nothing to stop what was about to happen. He couldn’t threaten them, he couldn’t intimidate them, and he knew that begging wouldn’t work. His mind raced. His wrists were tied and he was in a weakened state. There were at least three of them, maybe more, and they were armed.
Shepherd moved his legs. His boots may have been taken but he could still kick – and he could kick hard. Whatever they were planning to do, he would go down fighting. His heart pounded and he consciously slowed his breathing, not wanting to appear anxious. Giving up wasn’t an option. The thinking part of his brain knew it was hopeless, that he would die at their hands, but he refused to accept the inevitable. He hated the men – hated them with a vengeance – and he would do everything he could to administer as much pain and suffering to them as he could before he died.
The door opened and the tall man came back. He was holding a large knife with a wooden handle and a serrated edge. A bread-knife. He closed the door.
‘My company will pay you,’ said Shepherd, surprised at how calm he sounded. ‘They’ll pay you a lot of money.’
The tall man took a step towards him. The man with the withered arm said something to Straggly Beard, who moved to the right. Withered Arm started to mutter: ‘ Allahu Akbar.’ God is great. Straggly Beard repeated it, then the tall man. All three got themselves into a rhythm. ‘ Allahu Akbar. Allahu Akbar. Allahu Akbar.’
The door opened and a fourth stepped into the room. Shepherd hadn’t seen him before. He was stocky with a shaved head and a beard that went half-way down his chest. He was wearing a floor-length dishdasha and stood with his hands clasped together. He joined in the chant.
Shepherd pulled at his wrists again, even though he knew it was futile. The ropes tying him to the chair were as tight as those binding his arms. He hadn’t tried to stand up but he knew that when he did the chair would force him to bend forward making his head an easy target. He stared at the bread-knife. The man was swinging it back and forth as he chanted. He pulled at his wrists again and felt the rope bite into his flesh. He welcomed the pain: it was a reminder that he was still alive, that blood was still coursing through his veins.