‘What do you think is happening?’ asked the Spotter.
‘I have no idea,’ said the Sniper. ‘But I am sure we will find a target before too long. Inshallah.’
Kamil banged on the door. ‘Colin, stand against the wall, please,’ he shouted. He pressed his eye to the spyhole and watched as Mitchell followed his instructions. Then he unbolted the door and opened it. Behind him, Rahman and Azeem waited, their faces covered with shemagh scarves. Azeem was holding a Kal ashnikov, the safety off.
Mitchell stared at the assault rifle. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.
‘Nothing. We just need to make another video,’ said Kamil. He walked across the basement and handed the orange jumpsuit to Mitchell. ‘Put this on, please.’
‘What sort of video?’ asked Mitchell.
Wafeeq walked into the basement carrying the video-camera and its tripod. ‘Do as you’re told or we will kill you now,’ he snarled.
‘It’s better to keep him calm,’ Kamil said in Arabic.
‘You are too soft on them,’ said Wafeeq, also in Arabic. ‘They are the infidel. They deserve to die.’
‘It is easier if they are calm,’ said Kamil, patiently. ‘If they struggle, it is harder.’ He smiled at Mitchell. ‘Everything is okay, Colin, we just need another video.’
‘Why?’
‘We need more publicity. We need to put more pressure on your government.’
Wafeeq glared at Mitchell as he screwed the camera on to the tripod. Mitchell slowly pulled on the jumpsuit.
‘I will do this one,’ said Wafeeq in Arabic.
Kamil nodded. ‘It’s your choice,’ he said. They heard shouts from upstairs. It was Abdul-Nasir, the youngest of their group and the one most prone to panic.
‘Kamil!’ shouted Abdul-Nasir. ‘Someone’s coming. Quick! Come and see!’
‘Soldiers?’
‘No. Two men with a Westerner.’
‘What?’
‘Come and see.’
Kamil exchanged a look with Wafeeq. ‘Go!’ said Wafeeq, impatiently.
Kamil hurried into the kitchen, went up to the first floor and peered out of the bedroom window that overlooked the front of the house. Two Iraqis were walking down the path to the house. One was holding a pistol, the other had a Kalashnikov. Between them was a Westerner, head bowed, hands tied behind his back. He stumbled as he walked and the man with the Kalashnikov grabbed his arm. Kamil opened the window. ‘What do you want?’ he shouted.
‘Wafeeq said we were to bring him,’ shouted the man with the handgun.
‘He said what?’
‘He said we were to interrogate him, then bring him here.’
‘What is your name?’
‘I am Yuusof Abd al-Nuuh. This is my son.’
‘Wait there.’
Kamil ran downstairs. A Kalashnikov was leaning against the wall in the hall and he picked it up, then hurried down to the basement. ‘Did you tell them to bring the prisoner here?’ he asked Wafeeq.
Wafeeq frowned. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Two men, upstairs. They’ve brought a prisoner with them. A Westerner.’
Wafeeq looked at Mitchell. He was kneeling on the floor in the orange jumpsuit, his hands at his sides, glaring at them defiantly. The video-camera was ready to roll, and Wafeeq was ready to kill. But clearly something was wrong upstairs. He pointed at Mitchell. ‘I will be back for you,’ he said. ‘Come with me,’ he said to Kamil.
The two men hurried out of the basement. Wafeeq told Azeem to lock the door, then ran upstairs with Kamil.
‘His name is Yuusof Abd al-Nuuh, he said you told him to bring the prisoner here after they had interrogated him.’
Wafeeq shook his head impatiently. ‘I said interrogate him and kill him,’ he snapped. ‘Why would I want them to bring him here?’ He shouted towards the front room: ‘Azeem, Sulaymaan, Rahman, get upstairs now. Cover the front of the house.’
The three men ran out of the front room and up the stairs, carrying Kalashnikovs. ‘Azeem!’ shouted Wafeeq. ‘Take the RPG.’ Azeem scurried back to the front room, then reappeared with the weapon. He rushed upstairs after his two colleagues.
‘What do you think is happening?’ Kamil asked Wafeeq.
‘Something smells bad,’ said Wafeeq.
‘Did you tell them where we were?’
‘Of course not.’
There was a loud knock on the front door. Wafeeq switched off the Kalashnikov’s safety catch and nodded for Kamil to open it.
Kamil kept his gun at his side as he pulled back the bolts. Wafeeq stood with the gun on his hip, his finger on the trigger. Kamil took a deep breath and opened the door.
The two Iraqis were holding the Westerner. Yuusof’s face was drenched in sweat and he looked nervous. ‘What are you doing here?’ asked Kamil.
Yuusof said nothing.
‘Speak!’ shouted Kamil, gesturing with his gun.
The Westerner lifted his head and smiled. ‘Surprise,’ he said.
Mitchell got to his feet. He was sure they were getting ready to execute him, and he was equally sure that Wafeeq was going to do it. Something had happened upstairs but he knew it was only a temporary reprieve. They would be back soon and when they did come back they would kill him.
He went to the paperback book, moved it aside and picked up the magnetic chess set. He opened it, took out one of the small plastic-covered metal pieces and knelt by the electric socket. The screws came out easily. He took off the cover and pulled out the wires. He wasn’t sure if they were live so he touched the bare wires together. Sparks flew. He did it again and this time there were no sparks so he figured he’d blown a fuse. He gripped the wire and pulled hard. There was a ripping sound from behind the wall and several feet of wire came out of the hole. He stared at it. He would have given anything right then for a knife or a pair of scissors. He smiled to himself. If he’d had either a knife or scissors he wouldn’t have been messing around with the wire. He bent over, put his head close to the wall and began gnawing at the wire with his teeth.
Shepherd pulled out the Glock and shot the man in the forehead twice in quick succession. He slumped to the ground without a sound. Wafeeq stood in the doorway, holding a Kalashnikov. Shepherd dropped into a crouch and brought the gun to bear on Wafeeq’s chest but before he could fire the door slammed.
The two Iraqis who had walked him to the house dived to the ground and lay face down with their hands over their heads. There were no rounds in their guns and they had been told to stay down until the shooting was over.
Shepherd heard shouts above his head and looked up to see two men at the upstairs windows. One was aiming an RPG, the other had a Kalashnikov. The Kalashnikov fired and bullets sprayed round the gate as one of the Blackhawk helicopters swooped down to hover above the buildings on the far side of the street.
He kicked the door, which burst open, dived inside, rolled over and got to his feet, Glock in both hands. The man with the Kalashnikov had gone, and blood was pooling round the head of the man Shepherd had shot. Outside, he heard the Blackhawk’s massive chain guns burst into life. The high-explosive dual-purpose rounds ripped into the upper floor of the house for five or six seconds, then there was silence. He heard shouts outside, American voices, then M16s being fired, the thump of footsteps below him. He looked around for the door to the basement.
Mitchell had felt the shells smash into the upper floors of the building. Now he could hear the throb of helicopter blades, which meant the Americans were outside, more gunfire – M16s – and shouts and yells.
He had been standing with his back to the wall waiting for Kamil and the rest to come back, but now he knew that all bets were off. He had a length of wire wrapped round his right wrist. When he heard the thump of feet on the stairs, he moved quickly to the far side of the room and stood to the left of the door. It was all about survival now. The Americans had the technology and the manpower. It was only a matter of time before they overpowered his kidnappers. All Mitchell had to do was stay alive until that happened.