Firefight

'Don't be,' said Drew. 'He knew the risks. We all did. It could have been any of us — it just happened to be him. And if it wasn't for you, we'd never have got out of that fucking prison and this woman would be dead by now.' He paused. 'Whoever she is.'

Will fell silent.

'I know you probably can't tell us everything,' Drew continued. 'But that's OK.You know the code, though. You can trust us — me and Kennedy, I mean — despite what happened back there. You have to trust us. Just like Anderson trusted you. Just like we all trusted you.'

As he spoke, a voice spoke in Will's mind. It was Pankhurst, the man who had sent him out here in the first place. 'I know you've been trained to trust everyone at Hereford, Will, but that's one part of your training that you need to forget. We can't afford to trust anyone.'

Will blinked. He didn't know what to say to the earnest SAS man standing in front of him. Instead he looked over at Kennedy. 'You'd better wake him,' he said. 'We'll be leaving soon.'

Drew paused for a moment, then nodded, He walked over to where Kennedy was lying and gave him a gentle kick in the ribs.

'Not now, sweetheart,' the drowsy SAS man mumbled. 'I've got a headache.'

* * *

It was dark when they wheeled Latifa's stretcher bed out of the hangar towards the runway. The return journey wasn't to be in the Galaxy, but in a British C-17 Globemaster, and as they wheeled the woman across the busy tarmac, they could see empty pallets being loaded into the back, along with a few military vehicles that were being transported, for whatever reason, back to Brize Norton. There were quite a few strange looks from the loaders as they wheeled Latifa up a ramp and into the belly of the rumbling transport aircraft.

As on the way out, there were no other troops being ferried on this journey — it was solely for equipment — and the Globemaster had a smaller crew than the Galaxy. Just three, all told, plus the SAS team and Latifa. Will was relieved. Fewer people meant fewer questions and he wasn't in the mood for shooting the shit with curious squaddies wanting to pick his brains about the Regiment. He just wanted to get home.

Latifa's fever was beginning to subside, just like the medic had said it would. As she was wheeled into place in the Globemaster she even opened her eyes, looked around in brief confusion, then closed them again.

The stretcher was strapped in place against one of the walls of the plane before the three SAS men took their seats. Minutes later they felt the rush of G-force as the aircraft took to the sky.

'And amen to that,' Kennedy said, as they felt the plane turn sharply in the air to get them on course for England. 'Hope I don't have to pay a return visit to the Stan for a long time to come.'

They might have been sleeping all day, but it was a long, boring flight home and Drew and Kennedy obviously felt they still had some recuperating to do, so they each swallowed a sleeping tablet and within half an hour they were flat out. Will, though, had other plans. Once his companions were asleep, he unbuckled himself and walked over to Latifa's stretcher bed. Her eyes were open now and her head was turned so that she could gaze out of one of the little windows into the inky night sky. It was a moment before she realised Will had approached.

'I have never left Afghanistan before,' she croaked, weakly. But if she was scared she didn't show it.

'Do you feel any better?' he asked.

She shrugged. 'I feel as if I am not going to die anytime soon. So I suppose I feel better, yes.'

'You speak good English,' Will observed.

Latifa turned her head to look out of the window again. 'There was a time in my country, before the Taliban, when women were allowed to educate themselves.'

'They say things are getting better.'

She snorted, weakly. 'Look at me,' she said. 'You think this is progress?'

There wasn't much Will could say to that.

'We'll be in England in a few hours.'

'I see,' Latifa replied. 'And then what?'

'And then we need to ask you a few questions.'

'Ah,' she said, softly. 'More questions. The Taliban asked me many questions.' She looked piercingly at Will. 'This is about Faisal, is it not?'

Will took a deep intake of breath. 'It's about Faisal Ahmed, yes.'

'You do not like it when I speak his name,' Fatima noticed with an intuition that rather unnerved him.

He shrugged and Latifa closed her eyes. 'What is it that my brother has done?'

'What makes you think he's done anything?'

'Because I know him almost better than I know myself. He is a man of action. And because I know that no government would risk the lives of their soldiers to come and rescue me from the hands of the Taliban if it were not for the fact that he is in some kind of trouble.' She opened her eyes again. 'You saved my life, yet I do not even know your name.'

'Will,' he told her. 'Will Jackson.'

'Well, Will Jackson,' Latifa continued,'let me tell you this. I do not approve of the path my brother has taken. Even when we were children I used to beg him to pick up his schoolbooks instead of his guns. At first I used to pray that it was just a boyish phase, but it was not. Even when he was small, he never had any doubt of the difference between right and wrong. But what he did not understand — what he still does not understand, I think — is that what is right for one person is wrong for another.'

Latifa spoke carefully. Slowly. As though each word was an effort. Somehow it gave the effect of making her speech sound even more meaningful. And as she spoke, Will felt a surge of hope. This woman loved her brother, but she didn't necessarily like what he did. If she knew what was going on, maybe she would be inclined to help them.

'You need to listen to me carefully, Latifa,' he said. 'Your brother is planning something. An act of terrorism. We don't know what and we don't know when. We just know it's going to be big. You're our only chance of finding him. We know he keeps in touch with you. We know that if anyone can lead us to him, it's you.'

Latifa smiled a little sadly. 'You want me to lead you to my brother when he does not want to be found?'

'That's right.'

She fell silent for a moment. 'It is exactly what the Taliban wanted,' she said, finally. 'At least, it is exactly what the men holding me wanted. One of them, I think, had a personal argument with him. They too believed that my brother had been in contact with me. That is why they were torturing me — so that I would give him up. But I never did.'

Will narrowed his eyes. 'Thousands of people, Latifa,' he said, somewhat impatiently. 'Thousands of people could die if your brother goes through with his terrorist strike.'

'So you tell me,' Latifa replied. 'But I do not believe it. My brother is many things, but he is not a terrorist.'

'We have proof, Latifa.'

'You may show me all the proof you wish, Will Jackson. I will still not believe it.'

Will took a deep breath in an effort to control a sudden wave of anger. 'It seems to me,' he said, curtly, 'that perhaps you don't know your brother as well as you think. Faisal Ahmed is a terrorist. I have better reason to know than most.'

'How so?' the woman on the bed asked, weakly.

Will fought the urge to spit it out. Latifa's denial of her brother's true nature angered him. He turned away. Fuck it. For all he cared Pankhurst could torture the truth out of her when they got back — one way or another, she would give them any information she had.

But as he approached his seat he stopped. Something made him spin round and stride back up to her. Before he knew it, the words were tumbling out of his mouth. 'I know,' he hissed at her, 'because Faisal Ahmed planted the bomb that killed my family. A mother and a daughter. So don't try and tell me that bastard was whiter than white, because I've seen the evidence and I'm not fucking buying it!'