Come home
I hope everyone had a good Christmas. I have three chapters left to post, thanks for sticking with me.
10/11/98
"Charlie to field base." Sarah's voice reached Fiona over the radio. "In position, and I cannot tell for the life of me were the others are."
"Alpha to whoever, ditto. And at least these bloody things are doing their jobs." Sam added.
"Delta in position." Zaffar's voice. "Does anyone else keep nearly putting their feet through these?"
"Yes." Sam replied. "Beta, where are you?"
"I'm coming." Adam growled. Fiona could hear the irritation in his voice. "I can't walk very fast in this thing. Who's stupid idea were they?"
"Greg's." Fiona replied, suppressing a laugh. Sarah had remarked that she wouldn't need disguising or a legend for this op (catching a traitorous Afghan asset), as she'd be wearing a burqa, there was no knowing what anyone looked like under those and no one spoke to women anyway. Greg had suggested that all the field agents wore them, as they were such effective disguises. Chris had agreed, partly, Fiona suspected, to punish Adam and Sam for winding him up mercilessly that morning. The four field agents were sweeping a market for the asset, Fiona was hiding in a van with four gunmen and the coms equipment, which was making Adam nervous.
"Beta in position." His voice jerked Fiona back to the present.
"All units, commence search." The market, Fiona knew, was large and unbelievably busy, but the asset would be there, so the search would go on. It was almost half an hour before anyone spoke on coms again.
"See him. Stall 31." Sarah murmured.
"Maintain visual." Sam responded at once, "All other units, move in."
"Coming."
"Copy." Adam and Zaffar responded in turn.
"Sam," Sarah said slowly, "he's staring at me."
"Look uncomfortable." Fiona advised. "No woman who wears a burqa likes being stared at by men."
"He's thinking about bolting." Adam said softly. "Look at his eyes. He knew we'd come after him."
"If he runs, we chase him." Sam ordered.
"We're at a real disadvantage if – oh shit. He's running." Adam sighed.
"Go." Sam ordered.
Heavy breathing and curses aimed at the burqas dominated coms for a few seconds, then the sound of a lot of cloth passing quickly over a microphone.
"Go to Zaffar's secondary mic." Adam panted. "He's ditched his burqa." As soon as Fiona did this, she heard someone cry out, not a voice she knew, then a series of thuds and cries of pain. She'd done enough ops like this to know what had happened. Zaffar had caught up with the asset and jumped on him to bring him down. They would be fighting on the ground now. Zaffar only had to hold the target until someone else got there, Sam was armed.
"Taliban." Sarah said sharply.
"Run." Sam ordered.
"Zaffar." Adam said in to his mic. "Drop him and-"
Three shots. Fiona froze. Shouting. Mixed Arabic and- what was that? Urdu? Fiona bit her lip. If that was Urdu, they were shouting at someone to get on their knees, hands up. They'd been caught. All of them. No, what did that mean? Women, go away. Women. The Taliban still thought Sam and Adam were women.
"What's going on?" She breathed.
"They've made Zaffar and the target kneel down with their hands up, and us go round the corner." Sam breathed. "We have to abort."
"We can't just leave him." Adam hissed at Sam. "He's a foreign Spook. You know what they'll do to him."
"One pistol versus two assault rifles, and I bet the other two are armed. Fiona's gunmen are too far." Sam growled. "We can't win that."
It sounded to Fiona like one of the Taliban was asking why Zaffar and the target had been fighting. The target answered at once, shouting that Zaffar was a foreign spy, an infidel, that he should be shot in public as an example.
"I'm sorry Zaf." Sam said. "I'm so sorry." Fiona dipped her head. Poor man. The Taliban would never let him go. He'd be lucky to be shot; the alternative was torture. No one got out of Taliban hands alive.
"He's not dead yet." Adam breathed. "Look at his face. He's taking it like he can't believe what he's hearing." As if to prove Adam's point, Zaffar cut across the target.
"What are you talking about? That is one of the stupidest things I have ever heard." There Fiona's translation fell apart. It was something like `Do I look British to you?`. The Taliban asked Zaffar for his version of events.
"Come on Zaf." Adam breathed. "You can do this." Zaffar drew a breath and began. He was claiming he'd seen the target trying to break in to his father's shop, the target had, according to Zaffar, seen him coming, grabbed a burqa his mother had left out to mend and run off. The Taliban asked why, no, where the said burqa was. Zaffar presumably pointed, saying the target had dropped it (well, he'd probably said dropped rather than cut). That was a problem. There wouldn't be a burqa lying in the street... Oh, but there would. Zaffar had dropped it.
"Oh you clever boy." She whispered. The Taliban shouted something at the target, who said Zaffar had been disguised by the burqa. There was a very long silence. Fiona waited with bated breath.
All four Taliban burst out laughing. Zaffar joined in enthusiastically.
"Thank God for Greg." Sarah muttered. When the laughter had subsided, one of the Taliban asked Zaffar something else, something about why... why he was embarrassed? No, why he was exposed as he was. That made more sense. Under the burqa, Zaffar probably wasn't covered to their standards.
"Appologise and say you'd just had a wash." Adam suggested. Zaffar seemed to comply, even if Fiona didn't know half the words he used. His apology was very drawn out, the Taliban still seemed to be telling him off.
"We should beat him." Fiona knew that phrase. Zaffar drew a breath to steady himself.
"If that is what you must do..." Zaffar began nervously, but the Taliban ignored him. They seemed to be discussing what to do with the target. "Let me take him back to my father." Zaffar put in. "It was him that this man tried to rob." Fiona gave up there, but noticed that Zaffar offered to be beaten at the end. She had heard it said of the Taliban that offering to be beaten sometimes persuaded them not to beat you. Zaffar had either heard the same, was very brave, or very stupid.
But he was trying to win the target back. He'd just talked himself out of an impossible situation and he was still trying to complete his mission. That type of reckless bravery was usually the preserve of Sam and Adam.
It took the Taliban what felt like a long time to decide, the target still protesting loudly and increasingly desperately that Zaffar was a spy and would torture him to death.
"It is decided." One of the Taliban barked. "Tie their hands. Count of ten for that one. What is your name?"
"Mehmet." Zaffar replied without hesitation. "Mehmet Ali." The target protested that Zaffar was lying and was ignored.
"Father's name?"
"Ishmael Ali."
"Mehmet Ali, for exposing yourself, we will beat you, then we will give you the thief. You may not-" Something. Fiona didn't understand that bit. It sounded like Zaffar had to give the thief back at nightfall. Zaffar consented, breathing a little faster.
"Keep your lungs empty and be brave." Adam said quietly. "You're an officer of Her Majesty's Security Service. Don't show fear."
"No, play it up." Sam hissed. "They'd expect a spook to have a high tolerance for pain."
Thump. Zaffar cried out. It sounded like he'd been knocked sprawling. Fiona looked down. She hated listening to this kind of thing. It was far too reminiscent of what she and Adam had gone through in -.
When it ended, Zaffar was panting. He, the four Taliban and the target began to move, Zaffar leading the way, the target still protesting. Zaffar seemed to be alright. He was small-talking with the Taliban about the state of the country, whether keeping two wives was worth the trouble, `attempting` to speak a few words of English, deliberately badly, making the Taliban laugh. He was making a very good job of a situation which could have been disasterous.
Once only a few hundred metres from the van, Zaffar thanked the Taliban for their help (without a trace of sarcasm in his voice) and assured them that he would be fine from there. As soon as the Taliban were out of sight, Sam, Adam and Sarah closed in.
"Move." Sam growled. "Quietly." The target began to sob. It was only half a minute before the doors of the van opened and the target was thrown unceremonialy through them. Two of the gunmen dragged him in and proffered his arm to Fiona, who shot him with the first of the two syringes; Vallium. Adam, or maybe Sam, closed the doors of the van and waved to the driver.
"OK. Burqas of." It had been Adam at the door. Sam was moving the collapsing target.
"Bout time." Adam muttered, pulling his over his head. "Well done Zaf. I thought we'd lost you for a minute."
"Good job." Sam agreed. "I'd say you're a natural at that Zaf." Zaffar lifted his head..
"Zaf?" He repeated. "Is that your way of showing I've proven myself?"
"There's no explaining Sam." Sarah said, picking up a bottle of water. "Well done by the way."
"Are you alright?" Fiona asked, injecting the now unconscious target with ketamine, to keep him out. "That sounded like a fairly hard beating." Zaf shook his head.
"I'm fine. I've had much worse than that in Epsilon."
"`I've had worse` doesn't mean `I'm fine`." Adam said wryly. "If you're beaten two thirds to death, you've had worse if you're subsequently beaten half to death. That doesn't mean you're fine."
"Dear pot." Fiona started. Adam laughed.
"Touché."