Yet.
He angled across the narrow road towards the next intersection. The building on its far corner was a small shop. He made the turn, catching the dimly reflected scene in its window.
Another running figure was behind him.
‘I’m still being followed,’ he warned. ‘I’m coming straight to you. Be ready — everyone has to be inside when I arrive.’
‘They will be,’ Tony assured him. ‘Have you got enough of a lead on this guy to get out of sight yourself?’
Adam pushed himself harder, feet pounding over the dirty road. ‘I will soon.’
Baxter listened to Tony, then spoke to Lak. ‘Our man’s got a hostile following him — we need to get there before he does. Step it up!’
‘I’m going as fast as I can,’ Lak shot back. He took a turn at speed, crashing down through the gears as the van’s back wheels slid out on the wet surface. One of the men in the rear blurted an obscenity. ‘We’re nearly there.’
Baxter turned back to his team. ‘Get ready to move him.’ Syed lay on the van’s floor. He was still unconscious, but bound with plastic zip-ties. The stun baton’s effects would soon wear off.
‘Two more turns,’ Lak called. The Mercedes raced down a narrow lane between closely packed apartment blocks. Traffic was very light; few people in this part of Peshawar could afford a car. ‘Hold on.’
He braked hard, taking the van around the corner at a slightly more controlled rate. The new street was even narrower, workshops interspersed amongst the housing. ‘Okay, we’re almost there! Last turn!’
The final corner was much tighter. The front bumper scraped against concrete in his haste. But he made it through, giving the Mercedes one last burst of speed before skidding to a halt in a small muddy square.
The rear doors burst open, Syed’s limp form carried by three of the men as they hustled out. Baxter followed, looking down the street leading from the square’s far side.
Adam hared around its corner, coat flapping.
‘Move, move!’ Baxter snapped. A door in the building beside the van opened. Tony hurriedly waved the group inside. Syed was bundled through, Baxter squeezing past the mission leader in the tight hallway.
Adam reached the square proper. Smoke wafted from the van’s open window as Lak hurriedly lit a cigarette and took several drags on it.
Adam shot through the haze, shoes slithering on the dirt as he reached the opening and darted inside. Tony shut the door—
Khattak ran round the corner.
Panting, he rushed into the little square — then stopped in angry confusion. He had been at most twenty seconds behind the other man, but now there was no sign of him, and there was no way he could have reached the square’s only other exit already. He surveyed his surroundings. Light industrial buildings, all closed. A grubby white Ford van was parked in a corner of the square behind him, another vehicle ahead. A man was reading a newspaper in the cab, but he wasn’t Toradze.
There was no obvious escape route the arms dealer could have taken. Khattak checked behind the white van. Nobody there, or inside it. Frustrated, he hurried towards the Mercedes.
‘He’s coming towards me,’ Lak reported quietly. He pretended not to have registered the other man’s approach until Khattak rapped on the van’s side. ‘What?’
‘Did a man just run past you? A foreigner?’
Lak took the cigarette from his mouth. ‘Yes. I didn’t see where he went, though — I wasn’t really looking. That way, I think.’ He gestured vaguely over one shoulder.
Khattak scowled, then peered past him to check that his quarry was not hiding in the back of the van before jogging away. Lak watched him in the wing mirror. The terrorist crossed to the other side of the square to investigate the concrete stairs leading up the side of one building, but found the metal gate at their bottom locked. He spun in sheer exasperation, then took out his phone and continued down the narrow street.
‘He’s left the square,’ said Lak. ‘But I don’t think he’s going far.’
‘Watch him,’ Tony ordered. ‘If everything works here, we’ll be ready to move Syed in a few minutes. We can’t let this guy see us.’
‘Roger.’ Lak sat back, eyes still fixed on Khattak’s image in the mirror as the terrorist made a call.
Chapter 4
Change of Mind
Adam and Tony followed Baxter’s team into the makeshift operations centre, the high-tech equipment incongruous against the peeling paint of what had once been the owner’s office. The former Marine clicked his fingers, and Syed was dumped on the floor.
‘Careful,’ chided Albion. ‘We can’t let him get too banged-up.’
‘The cover story’ll explain away a few bruises,’ said Tony with dark humour. ‘Are you ready?’
Albion nodded towards two metal cases, one large, one small. ‘I need to calculate the dose.’ He took out a notebook bound in black leather. ‘Mr Baxter, can you and your men help me weigh our friend, please?’
There was an electronic scale on the floor beside the cases. Baxter’s men hauled Syed to his feet — producing a groggy moan. Holly Jo gave him a worried look. ‘He’s waking up.’
‘Thought he’d be out for longer,’ said Tony.
Albion shook his head. ‘It won’t make any difference.’ Syed was manoeuvred on to the scale. He mumbled something, trying to move, only to find his limbs restrained. ‘Okay, let go for a moment, see if he can stand up on his own… excellent. One hundred sixty-four pounds.’ Albion noted the figure, then produced a tape measure and quickly ran it up Syed’s body. ‘And five feet ten inches. Just one more to get…’
He wound the tape around Syed’s head at forehead height, pulling it tight. The Pakistani’s eyes opened. Alarmed — and angry — he struggled against the ties, almost falling off the scales in the process.
Two of Baxter’s men grabbed him. ‘Okay, put him back down, please,’ said Albion. ‘Face-up, and hold him in place. I need to check his overall condition.’
Syed was lowered back to the floor, far from gently. ‘Americans!’ he croaked. ‘You — you bastards!’ A string of curses followed.
‘Yes, yes,’ said Albion, unconcerned. He knelt and shone a penlight torch over the prisoner’s face. ‘A bit scrambled from the shock, obviously, but the eyes look fairly clear, no broken blood vessels. Dark rims around them, but coloration looks healthy, so…’ He made more notes, muttering to himself. ‘Now, if I can just see your gums?’
‘I won’t give you anything, you shit-eating dog!’ Syed snarled.
Albion swept the spot of light over his mouth. ‘Thank you. I’d suggest a breath mint, but otherwise…’ More writing, then he stood. ‘All right, gentlemen, hold him there, please.’
Lak’s voice came through the team’s headsets. ‘Two more men are approaching me.’
Kyle looked up from his console. ‘Tony! The drone’s back. I’ve got eyes outside.’
Tony and Adam regarded the screens. ‘There’s Khattak,’ said Adam, spying a figure at the intersection. ‘And those are Umar and Marwat.’ The other two men jogged through the square. They passed Lak’s van to meet their comrade.
Tony’s face tightened. ‘We can’t move Syed if they’re hanging around.’
Albion snapped his notebook shut. ‘Okay, I’ve got the dosage.’
‘Do it,’ said Tony. ‘Adam?’
Adam found room alongside Syed in the limited floor space, lying down. The Pakistani glared at him. ‘Muhammad was right! You are not Toradze! You bastard, you shit! You son of a whore! I will cut off your balls and feed them to you!’