– and the battered pickup spotted by satellite had been joined by another three well-worn off-roaders, and the ‘couple’ of horses had multiplied to at least ten. There were even some motorcycles.
‘Doesn’t really matter, does it?’ said Starkman. ‘Question is, what do we do about ’em?’
Mac looked through binoculars. ‘If this were a search-and-destroy mission, nothing would change – we’ve still got surprise and firepower on our side. But with hostages to worry about . . . ’ His gaze fixed on a barn-like structure a hundred yards from the house. ‘There are two men guarding the barn, but no lights inside. That’s probably where they’re being held.’
Movement at the main building; several Taliban, chattering loudly, went inside, while others headed for the tents. A few men remained outside. ‘That’s useful,’ said Stikes. ‘If they stay in the house, we can bring the whole thing down on top of them.’ He indicated the Heckler & Koch AG-C 40mm grenade launchers mounted on Green’s and Baine’s rifles. ‘Get a lot in one go.’
‘Still plenty left,’ Mac replied. He pointed at a shallow irrigation ditch not far away. ‘Eddie, Hugo, see if the hostages are in the barn. And check for any more tents behind the house.’
Chase and Castille slipped off their packs, then, weapons in hand, crawled across the dusty ground and slithered into the ditch. It took them almost ten minutes to reach the barn, moving at a silent snail’s pace to avoid alerting the guards. The dusty channel passed about forty feet from the dilapidated structure; once out of the guards’ field of view, Chase cautiously raised his head. Nearby was a rubbish pile that would provide additional concealment as they approached the barn. He ducked back down and signalled for Castille to follow, crawling onwards until they drew level with the garbage heap.
He peered up again – and froze as a guard came into view, AK hanging from one shoulder. The man trudged along the side of the barn, passing the pile of rubbish with barely a sideways glance.
Chase expected him to round the rear of the building, but instead he continued across open ground to a small shack. He unbolted its door and went inside.
A woman’s fearful shriek cut through the night air. Chase whipped up his gun. It couldn’t be any of the hostages – mindful of Afghanistan’s repressive attitudes, the UN workers were all men. The Taliban had another prisoner.
Chase waited until he was out of sight, then emerged from the ditch and took cover behind the trash heap. Castille followed. ‘What was that?’ the Belgian whispered.
‘I don’t think these fundamentalist fuckwits are running a women’s refuge,’ Chase snapped. ‘Come on, let’s get them out of there.’
‘Wait, wait, wait! We have to find the hostages first.’
Chase frowned, but knew Castille was right. ‘Okay. You watch for—’ He stopped, sniffing. The stench of garbage was unpleasant enough, but there was another, more ominous odour mixed in with it. ‘You smell that?’
Castille’s large nostrils twitched, and his face fell. ‘Yes. Do you think . . . ’
‘Yeah, I think.’ Chase peeled away a mouldering piece of sacking to reveal what he had feared – a corpse. White skin, not olive or brown. One of the hostages. ‘Shit!’
‘There is another here,’ Castille reported mournfully. ‘No, two more. Their throats have been cut.’
‘Saves on bullets,’ Chase said bitterly as he found a fourth body beneath the first. Even in the moonlight, he recognised the face from the mission briefing. ‘I’ve found our spook. Fuck!’ He sat back on his haunches, fuming. ‘Any more?’
‘No. So, they’ve killed four of them.’
‘Which still leaves eight.’ He looked at the barn . . . then an object beside it. A large, old-fashioned refrigerator lying on its side, the door missing. Churned-up dirt showed where it had been dragged from the trash and pushed against the wall. ‘Keep an eye out, I’ll check the barn.’
Castille covering him, Chase crept forward. As he suspected, the fridge had been moved to act as a barricade, blocking a gap. He peered between the planks.
Holes in the roof provided pools of moonlight inside, enough for him to make out the slight movement of somebody’s breathing. The man was bound, his face darkened with bruises and blood. Another man’s tied legs were visible nearby, other forms in the shadows.
The mission wasn’t over, then. He moved to the corner of the barn and glanced round it, seeing another half a dozen large tents behind the house, as well as more tethered horses. He returned to Castille, and they dropped back into the ditch. Another long crawl, and they reached the scrubby bushes where the others were waiting. ‘They’ve killed four of the hostages,’ Chase reported. ‘Including the guy from MI6.’
That prompted a round of muttered obscenities. ‘The mission’s down the lavatory then,’ said Stikes.
‘There are still the other hostages,’ Mac reminded him. ‘Did you see them?’
‘Yeah,’ said Chase. ‘They’re tied up in the barn. But there’re another six tents behind the house, and more horses. I think we’re talking at least forty Terries altogether.’
‘Hrmm,’ Mac rumbled, thinking. ‘Jason, get on the radio and see if any additional air support has become available. It’s a long shot, but it’s worth a try.’
‘You don’t think we’ll be able to take ’em?’ Baine asked.
‘Not all of them, and if we have to make a run for it with the hostages I’d like to have as much firepower covering us as possible.’
‘There’s something else,’ said Chase as Starkman made the call. ‘There’s a hut past the barn, and there are more prisoners in it. Women.’
‘So what are you proposing we do?’ said Stikes with a sneer. ‘They’re not our problem – our only concern is
