Killing for the Company

with the naked eye. Busier than last night. Plenty of small cars, indistinguishable at this distance from their own, but plenty of military vehicles too. Luke couldn’t tell from up here if they were moving men, munitions or other supplies. But he could tell there were enough of them for that road to be a very dangerous place for two members of the British Army and two dissident Iraqi hostages, one of them with blood pissing from a gun wound.

The radio crackled, and then was silent.

‘Zero, this is Tango 17.’

A pause.

‘Tango 17, this is Zero. Send.’

‘We have the target, but we got into contact. Two men down, one wounded. We have the casualty in tow. Target claims he’s a fellow dissident. Request further instructions.’

‘Tango 17, wait out, figures 5.’

The line went quiet. Luke looked around. A desert falcon was circling up above. Apart from that, no movement in the immediate vicinity.

After five minutes that felt like a lot longer, the radio came to life again.

‘Tango 17, this is Zero. Proceed to RV with both captives.’

Luke glanced at Finn. He was shaking his head.

‘Zero, we’re in a bad spot here. We need medical assistance. Request pick-up.’

A brief pause, then: ‘Tango 17, pick-up cancelled. No heli assets.’

He heard Finn cursing under his breath. ‘What about Fozzie and the others?’

A pause.

‘Back-up unit compromised. Enemy aircraft in border area airspace. Return via vehicle or foot. Repeat, return via vehicle or foot.’

Luke nodded grimly. ‘Roger that, Zero.’ He replaced the handset of the patrol radio.

‘Fuck’s sake.’ Finn looked towards the main road. ‘I’m telling you, with that guy in the car it’s fucking suicide down there. We should just nail him now, say he died of his wounds.’

For a moment Luke didn’t reply. He walked round and glanced into the vehicle. The wounded man was pale and sweating, despite Finn’s on-the-hoof medical attention. He had a large swab bandaged to his wound, but it was already saturated with blood. He needed serious attention and this wasn’t the place to go looking for it. Maybe Finn was right. Maybe they should just ditch him.

‘You given him a shot?’ Luke asked.

‘Not the kind I’d like to.’

‘Have you given him a shot?’

‘Of course I’ve given him a fucking shot. But he needs more than morphine.’

Luke continued to weigh things up. He didn’t like the sound of the situation at the border. With Fozzie and the others compromised, getting over into Jordan was going to be tough. Maybe they should ditch the car and head across the desert on foot. But it was 100 miles to the border, and that was a big ask even for the two Regiment men. For an old boy like Abu Famir it was an impossibility. And as for the wounded man…

In any case, they had their orders. Luke looked over at Finn. ‘We need to get him into the burka,’ he said. If nothing else it would cover up the guy’s wounds.

‘We need to waste the fucker.’

Luke gave Finn a dangerous look before opening up the front passenger door to talk to Abu Famir.

‘What’s his name?’ he demanded.

The Iraqi academic avoided his gaze.

‘What’s his fucking name?’

‘He needs a doctor,’ Abu Famir mumbled. It was clear he was avoiding the question.

‘Fuck’s sake,’ Luke sighed, before opening the rear door and moving his attention to the casualty. Their companion stank of sweat and was shaking. ‘Hey, buddy,’ Luke said — speaking English because he didn’t know what else to speak. ‘How you doing?’

The wounded man opened his eyes, but there didn’t seem to be much understanding behind them.

‘You got a name, buddy?’

When the man answered, it was in a hoarse almost-whisper. ‘Amit,’ he said.

That didn’t sound like an Iraqi name to Luke. He glanced in Abu Famir’s direction, then turned back to the wounded man.

‘OK, Amit, you need to stand up by the car so we can put something over you. Stop anyone paying us too much atten…’

‘Where’s Abu Famir?’ Amit asked. His accent had a strange tinge to it. ‘I need to get Abu Famir out…’ A moment of breathlessness. ‘I need to get him out of…’

‘Abu Famir’s here. We’re taking care of it.’ Luke felt a moment of respect for Amit, if that was really his name. ‘Now come on, buddy. I’m going to help you out…’

Luke could do nothing other than place two strong hands under Amit’s armpits to lug him from the vehicle. The wounded man gasped in pain, but he didn’t resist and moments later he was leaning against the car, his body crooked but his face a little more alert than it had been — even though the dressing of his wound was like a sodden sponge.

‘Your friend wants to kill me?’ he whispered.

Luke gave him a long look. ‘You want to give him a reason not to?’

Amit closed his eyes. ‘What do I need to wear?’ he whispered.

All of a sudden Finn pulled his Sig from under his robe and held the barrel of the gun hard against the man’s forehead. ‘Answer the fucking question,’ he instructed. But as soon as Finn had spoken, Luke knocked his gun away from Amit, and the two Regiment men found themselves staring each other down.

‘Leave it,’ Luke said. ‘That’s an order.’

‘This is insane,’ Finn spat. ‘We hit a roadblock and it goes noisy, half the Republican Guard are going to be on our tail. It’s daylight. They’ll be able to see us from fucking Syria.’

Luke looked back at Amit. The guy was leaning, exhausted, against the car.

‘We’ll find a lying-up point,’ Luke decided. ‘Wait till nightfall and work out what to do. Let’s get him covered up.’

With obvious reluctance Finn fished the burka and headdress out of the boot. Amit didn’t really seem to register what they were doing as the two SAS men struggled to get the robe over him and the headdress on, before Luke helped him into the back of the car again. By the time Amit was sitting down, his head lolling at a slight angle and his face obscured behind the veil of the headdress, it was impossible to tell if he was awake or asleep. Hell, it was impossible to tell if he was even still alive.

Luke put the bonnet down, got back into the car and turned to Abu Famir, who was still in the front passenger seat. The Iraqi had calmed down and was looking defiantly at Luke over the top of his little round spectacles.

‘I will have great influence in the new Iraq,’ he announced with great self-importance. ‘I will see to it that you are well rewarded..’

‘Fuck your rewards,’ Luke replied. ‘Who is he?’

‘My deputy,’ Abu Famir stated flatly. ‘And I will not see him killed. ’

Luke glanced at Finn. You might not get a fucking choice, he thought to himself as he started the engine. Abu Famir was still talking. ‘I know your Prime Minister Stratton well. We have spoken on the telephone. He has great respect for my judgement…’

They set off again. They’d been travelling for five minutes when Luke became aware of a sound from the back seat. He looked over his shoulder. Amit was moving — shaking his head — and muttering to himself. ‘What’s he saying?’ he asked Finn.

‘Fuck knows. Delirious.’

‘He must see a doctor,’ Abu Famir declared.

‘Thanks. I’ll phone for a fucking appointment.’

A couple of minutes later Luke hit the brakes. Something had caught his attention. He and Finn got out of the car. The terrain to the right was rough and undulating, and 500 metres away there was an outcrop of bare rock, about the size of a small house. A thin wadi ran towards it, alongside which was a rough dirt track that fed off the