It had been dark for three hours by the time Delta Force and Faruq’s men reached the valley of the Taliban camp. Danny and Jacko did a sweep with night-vision binoculars and thermal-imaging scopes and located the glow of lookouts stationed outside the camp’s walls. There were three and they’d be dealt with silently once Connor was inside.
Connor’s men had taken off their Baloch tribal dress to reveal their desert fatigues underneath. They’d also applied black paint to their faces, to camouflage them in the moonlight. Connor was still dressed for the shura. Faruq handed Connor a battered old AK-47. “We leave the horses here. They will expect us all to be armed. But we have to hand in our weapons at the gate and shall have them returned when we leave. No guns are allowed at shuras. Your disguise is acceptable, Major, and your grasp of Pashto sufficient to be understood. But your accent might give you away, so blend in with my men and try to avoid speaking.”
“Agreed.” Connor slung the rifle over his shoulder. Then he thought twice and handed it back. “I’ll be staying when you leave. An extra rifle will raise suspicion. Will they search us?”
Faruq shook his head. “Our customs require a degree of trust on such occasions.”
Connor was relieved as he felt safer keeping his combat knife strapped to his left shin.
Faruq led the way with his dozen men, Connor among them, along the stony path towards the glow of lamps and the gate to the Taliban’s fortified compound. A face appeared over the parapet and called out. Faruq responded. As they waited for the gates to open, Connor leaned forward and whispered, “Remember, Faruq, make damn sure you and your men are out of there by eleven thirty. And, whatever you do, don’t head north or else you might run into a rather nasty surprise.”
Once inside and disarmed, the party were led towards a large, two-storey building. Meanwhile, outside, Sparks remained at the evac co-ordinates. He maintained radio contact with CENTCOM and the rest of Delta Force. Jacko sloped off into the night, a silencer attached to his M4 rifle, and Sam followed. Within the hour they had dealt with the external lookouts.
Danny and Ben had the hardest job of all. Carrying the heavy blanket explosive in camouflaged backpacks they crawled lizard-like, chins in the dirt, slowly towards the south-west corner of the training camp. Progress was painfully slow with long spells lying perfectly still in the moon shadows.
Drawing closer, they could hear voices and saw that the Taliban had posted guards on the walls and roof of the tower. Still they pressed on and, reaching the wall, slipped off their backpacks. They primed the charges and placed them in position. They were about to retreat when a sudden scuffle from the parapet above made them freeze. Someone peered down towards where they lay. Ben held his breath. Had they been heard? Gently, he reached to his belt for his Glock handgun. The face eventually vanished but before either Danny or Ben could breathe a sigh of relief, a naked backside appeared instead. And then they heard splattering and the air filled with a stink. They didn’t wait for the man to finish before retreating to the cover of some boulders.
Faruq and his men settled down on some plump cushions. They faced the Taliban’s representatives across the room. Connor studied the camp’s leader, a man finely dressed with a golden hat made from karakul skins, and gold rings on his fingers. To his left was the camp’s mullah, and to his right was a man with his arm in a sling; Masud. Connor recognised him from intel he’d studied.
A succession of food on trays was brought in and the feast began; spicy meat dishes, roasted corn, nuts and gallons of sweet tea. Conversation was polite and trivial. Connor had to bide his time. It was too early to act.
With the feasting over, talk turned to the business of stolen chickens, appropriate compensation, and a string of promises. Connor could tell the Taliban leader cared little for the Baloch, and he sensed Faruq felt the same about the Taliban.
Beneath his turban, Connor was wearing a covert earpiece. He heard Sparks updating the team. “Arrow and Spear are in position. Helos are on their way and on schedule for the evac. Code Green. We have clearance to proceed. Check your weapons and detonate charges at zero hour when Arrow set off their flares. Good luck.”
The shura drew to a close shortly before eleven fifteen. Everyone headed outside via a narrow corridor. Connor knew it was time to make his move. He dipped through an open side door leading to a storeroom. Feeling his way through the dark to the window, he gently forced it open and climbed out. A nearby rainwater tank offered cover. As Faruq’s party exited through the gate, Connor took stock of his surroundings.
There were Taliban guards everywhere. Connor could see the tower in which Kate Shawcross was hopefully still being held on the far side of the camp. First, though, he needed to locate Hassan. There were numerous buildings to check out, some lit by oil lamps and all hives of activity. In one, men knelt and prayed. In another a dozen or so were reading aloud from the Qur’an. In a third building ten more Taliban were cleaning their rifles.
Connor cursed under his breath. “Where the hell are you, Hassan?” It was twenty to twelve. He realised he had little choice other than ask around. Spotting a tall man crossing the camp, Connor set off after him.
“I’m looking for Hassan,” Connor said.
“What do you want with the boy?” Amin asked. “And who are you? I don’t recognise you.”
Sensing he was about to raise the alarm, Connor pulled the man into the shadows. He gripped the man’s throat. “Where’s the boy? I won’t ask again.”
“I’m here. Now leave my friend alone,” said Hassan as he pointed an AK-47 at Connor.