SOTG HOLDING AREA, TARIN KOWT
‘You can’t go in there, sir.’
Matt tried the door again. It was locked.
‘Sir, you’re not authorised to go in there.’
‘Not authorised? What the hell are you talking about?’ Matt turned to face the guard, an MP sergeant who had processed Faisal Khan earlier that week. ‘You saw me bring him in here only two days ago.’
‘I’m just doing my job, sir. There’s a process and the interrogators won’t allow anyone who isn’t a part of that process into the cells.’
Matt knew it was pointless to argue. For all the bad press, they were sticklers for the rules – in most cases, anyway.
• • •
Only thirty metres away, on the other side of several thick metal doors, Faisal Khan was secured to a single hook in the ceiling with rusty chains that pulled his arms above his head; the rest of his weight was on his knees on the floor.
He kneeled there in a state of constant agony. The shackles cut into his wrists and he sobbed at the pressure. His hair, once slicked back, was dirty and matted. The air of quiet confidence he had worn before the shock of his capture forty-eight hours earlier had disappeared; now he was timid and scared.
The music started again, playing very softly in the background, and Faisal let out a small sob. During the next two hours, Don McLean’s ‘American Pie’ would be played over and over again, increasing in volume each time until it was blaring into his cell. This would herald the entry of the four huge dogs (wolves as far as Faisal was concerned) that would come in barking and snarling. The last time they’d raced right up to him, their breath hot on his skin, their teeth touching his cheeks as they threatened to tear his face off. Then the music would stop, except that Faisal would think he could still hear it. Finally, the little bald man would come in and softly ask his questions and the words would just blurt out of Faisal’s mouth, he couldn’t stop them; the presence of the small man, with all of his promises and suggestions, was so reassuring after the music and the dogs.
Faisal squinted up at a crack in the ceiling. In one of the corners light broke through the darkness where the cell was slightly larger than the room above it. Every time someone walked above, dust would fall down through the ceiling. It seemed to dance in the shard of light that streamed through the crack. The light brought with it the promise of a world outside the small one he now found himself in. The presence and absence of the light was only the sign of the passage of days outside this room in which time seemed random and unpredictable.
Food was forced on him when his captors felt like it and water was provided if they decided he was thirsty. The temperature never really changed down in the cell. It was always hot. It was always dusty. The air was thick with the smell of his own waste. Every now and then his captors would come down and throw another bucket of dirty water over him. The putrid water would soak his clothes. The liquid that ran off him drained to the corner of the room, leaving a muddy trail of water and waste.
Faisal wished he were dead.
• • •
Matt had left the holding area when he heard a voice behind him.
‘Hey, Matt, wait up!’
He turned and watched as Sam hurried up the path towards him.
‘What’s news, Sam?’ Matt asked.
‘He’s singing like a bird, mate. More information than we can use on this rotation, that’s for sure.’
‘What about the other uniform, the missing one with the explosives in it? Did he give any indication as to where that went?’
‘No, and I’m not even sure he knows, to be honest. I think Rapier might have had a hand in that though – which is fortuitous, as he confirmed the location of Rapier’s home about an hour ago.’ Matt felt his pulse quicken. ‘Is this for real? Are you sure he’s not just telling us what he wants us to hear?’
‘Walk with me for a minute, Matt; I’m on my way to the mess hall. Something about the smell of a captive man makes me ravenous.’
‘Jesus, Sam, you and JJ should swap bloody notes. You’re both sick in the head.’
Sam laughed. ‘Maybe you’re right. Anyway, a few weeks back a drone picked up a signal from an old handset of Rapier’s high up in the mountains in the province, close to the border with Pakistan. We’ve never been able to place Rapier there and have never had a confirmation that he is actually even from there.’
‘Until now.’
‘Yeah, until now; Faisal just blurted it out after we tricked him and told him that it was Ahmed Defari himself who told us where he was staying in Kabul. Seems loyalty isn’t a Taliban trait.’
‘What else did he have to say?’
‘He mostly confirmed what we already know: the uniforms are made of a super space-age material, military-grade explosives sewn into the garment – no metal content except for an igniter disguised as a button, controlled by a special pen that is electronically matched to the uniform. It’s a state-sponsored manufacture, and it seems that Iran is involved, or Pakistan; it’s hard to be sure really.’
‘Jesus! How many more are of those things are out there?’ Matt’s mind reeled at the implications.
‘Well, none, other than the missing one – at least I don’t think there are. It seems that some gunrunners in Libya designed them, and sold them on just before they were topped off by the Israelis – an Egyptian guy had received them. He’s a Taliban facilitator and he had them delivered to Abdul Rahman’s shop after Abdul’s brother, the accountant in Kabul, sorted out the funds. They had planned a massive attack across the country.’
• • •
Sam fell silent. He wasn’t sure yet how he was going to use the rest of the information he had extracted from Faisal Khan, if at all. The Taliban had confessed to using Steph, who had been selling Yankee Platoon’s movements in return for information that she thought could be used to show a link between Iran and Afghanistan. Khan had outsmarted her at her own game. Perhaps Sam could smooth things over with her; show her that she had been outplayed but reassure her that her secret was safe with him. After all, the intelligence community should stick together and so far everyone thought it was only Nadeem Karn who was in contact with Faisal. Nadeem had been very fast to explain how the Taliban would kill him when everyone left Afghanistan. Sam had even pitied him. The American-educated interpreter was of course right, there were no protections in place for him after this was all done, and it made sense for him to be making deals with the Taliban. It had also turned out that Nadeem had no knowledge of Steph’s involvement; Faisal had kept both of them compartmented.
‘So I guess we had better get planning then,’ Matt was saying. He sounded excited, and Sam knew he would be relishing the opportunity to take on Rapier in Zabul, his own area.
‘I’m actually going over to brief Colonel Hoff now. Why don’t you come with me, Matt? I think this is grounds for a whole-of-SOTG effort. I know X-Ray Platoon is back this evening. It should make for an interesting – not to mention violent – operation.’