Holly Jo gave him the answer. ‘The van just left. But what about Roger?’
‘Either you can stabilise him, or you can’t.’ He didn’t know if the coldness of the statement was from Syed’s persona or his own.
He was closing on Marwat, but not quickly enough, the young man’s fear fuelling him. Beyond him, Khattak was forced to lower the phone to keep his balance as he wove between people coming the other way, but he brought it back up the moment he cleared them, his thumb finding another digit on the keypad.
In the office, Perez and Ware began first aid on Albion’s wound. Tony reluctantly looked away to Kyle’s screens. ‘Levon, where’s that damn map?’
‘It’s coming, it’s coming!’ came the frantic reply. ‘Okay, it’s on stream seven… now!’
Holly Jo overlaid the incoming data on the satellite image of Peshawar. Dozens of dots popped up. She zoomed in on those around the green symbol marking Adam’s position. ‘Kyle, I’m sending the nearest towers to you.’
‘Got ’em,’ Kyle replied. ‘Okay, closest one is… rooftop, a hundred and twenty metres west of the drone.’ He glanced at Tony for confirmation.
‘Take it out,’ Tony snapped.
‘All right!’ He took the UAV’s controls, re-angling its camera so that instead of looking down it showed the view ahead, and swung the drone round on a new course. ‘Can’t believe you’re finally letting me do this…’
The little aircraft dropped towards the rooftops. ‘There,’ said Tony, pointing. A six-storey building was home to a skeletal tower.
‘I see it.’ The phone mast grew rapidly as Kyle swept the drone in on its kamikaze run, aiming for the crown of antennae. But instead of crashing, he slowed the quadrotor sharply just before impact. It was built of lightweight materials, so simply ramming it into a target would have done little more than glancing damage.
The self-destruct unit would deliver far more. The explosive running through the UAV’s fuselage was intended not merely to wreck the machine but to completely obliterate it, preventing its sophisticated camera and computer systems from falling into the wrong hands.
Kyle flipped up a protective cover on the control console to reveal a red button. He stabbed it down, hard. ‘Bickety-boom!’
The feed from the drone’s camera went blank.
Khattak entered the final digit. He clamped the phone to his ear, looking back as he raced into an alley. Marwat was not far behind him; Toradze was catching up fast.
A voice from the other end of the crackling line. ‘Hello?’
‘Nasir, it’s Muhammad!’ Khattak gasped. ‘Tor—’ He broke off as a loud bang came from somewhere nearby, echoing off buildings. A grenade? ‘Toradze is working with the Americans! They’ve captured Syed!’
There was no answer. ‘Nasir? Nasir, can you hear me?’ Still only silence; even the crackle had gone. He looked at the phone’s screen. NO NETWORK. But he was in the middle of the city!
The explosion. Toradze’s associates must have destroyed the nearest phone mast, cutting him off.
But they would only have taken such drastic measures if they had been unable to shut down the entire network. If he got close enough to another mast, he could get a connection. The towers were dotted all over Peshawar — surely one couldn’t be far…
A rooftop! If he were clear of the surrounding buildings, he would get a better signal. Khattak reached the end of the alley, emerging on a street. He looked up.
An apartment block across the road stood five floors high, taller than its neighbours. Rain-soaked washing hung heavily from a line on its roof. There was a way up there. He swerved around a passing autorickshaw and ran for the building’s entrance. ‘Don’t let him get to the roof!’ he called back to Marwat.
‘The cell tower’s down,’ Holly Jo told Adam. ‘We cut off his call.’
Adam didn’t reply. It wouldn’t take Khattak long to get into range of another mast.
Marwat angled right as he ran out from the alley’s far end, following Khattak. Adam was only seconds behind, gaining on the two men. He had the SIG in his hand, but knew that the chances of hitting a running target while he himself was sprinting were practically zero, even with his training. Instead, he rushed into the open—
To see a car coming at him.
The battered Nissan was barely doing twenty miles per hour, but still slithered on the wet road, ill-maintained brakes shrilling. Adam banged both hands down on its hood to absorb some of the impact, taking a painful blow to his hip. He staggered before regaining his balance and continuing after Marwat. The driver yelled angrily as he ran past.
The collision had cost him several seconds. Khattak had disappeared into a building. Marwat went through its entrance.
A woman cried out. His gun had been seen. He ignored the spreading alarm and ran to the entrance.
A small lobby area floored in dirty red tile. He heard the rapid thud of footsteps from the narrow wooden staircase.
They’ll set an ambush on the stairs…
Adam’s own assessment of the situation was the same as Syed’s. But he had to make the ascent to stop Khattak from warning the rest of the terrorist cell. He ran up the stairs, gun at the ready.
When would the attack come? Marwat would be waiting — but on which floor?
The stairwell was confined, dark. He pounded up it, the umbrella’s handle scraping against the wall. Nobody on the first landing. He could still hear hurrying feet above as Khattak headed for the roof.
He continued upwards. Was Marwat waiting for him on the next landing, or the one after?
This one—
The Pakistani lunged into view, pointing his gun down the stairs — but Adam was prepared and had his own weapon raised. He fired just as Marwat saw the danger and jerked back. The bullet narrowly missed and hit a wall, scattering scabs of shattered plaster.
He reached the landing. Marwat’s pistol came up—
Adam swept his own gun arm across Marwat’s chest to knock the muzzle away as the terrorist pulled the trigger. The shot was painfully loud in the confined space. The American drove his shoulder against the other man’s sternum, slamming him back against the wall.
With his right arm holding his opponent’s gun at bay, Adam couldn’t get a shot with the SIG. Instead he drove his left fist into Marwat’s stomach. Two punches, three. The terrorist gasped in pain.
Adam shifted his weight, about to drive his elbow into the other man’s groin—
Marwat threw himself forward.
The impact made Adam stumble. As he fought to stay upright, Marwat charged, forcing him across the landing.
They crashed against a door. It burst open, the lock splintering from the frame. Adam tripped as he reeled into the room. Both men fell, the American taking the brunt as he collided with a small table. It collapsed beneath him. Marwat landed heavily on top of him, knocking the breath from Adam’s lungs…
And the gun from his hand.
Marwat immediately saw his advantage. He pushed himself off Adam.
Adam swept his hand over the floor to search for the P228. He found no metal, only wood—
The crouching terrorist brought up his gun — only to screech in pain as one of the broken table’s legs smashed against his wrist like a baseball bat. The shot went wide. Before he could recover, Adam’s heel hit his knee. He tumbled on to his back.
Adam threw the makeshift club at him and rolled to search for his gun. It had ended up a few feet away. He scrambled for it.
Marwat sat up, enraged. He saw his adversary moving and took aim—
Adam was faster, snatching up the SIG and twisting to fire in a single fluid motion. The bullet hit Marwat in the right side of his chest, a rope of dark blood gushing out as he fell backwards.