Sniper’s Debt (7even Series Book 2) Page 5

  ‘Major, why are you smiling?’

  ‘Because I’m sure now that I will kill you before this all ends.’

  He sniggered and got to work on his laptop, whistling an old tune.

  Since when did ISIS jihadis whistle Stand by Me?

  Khalid was back on the camera. ‘Well, it seems the Indians are at least willing to talk. They are flying over negotiators. But the Americans are running out of time, and if they don’t do anything concrete soon, another of its citizens will die in seven minutes.’

  Two men were still pointing their guns at me, and Khalid was too far for me to try anything, but there was no harm in trying to learn more about what was going on.

  ‘Do you really believe the US will release those men? Most of them are big fish, other than the idiots who thought they could blow up an airliner with bombs in their shoes or underwear. And, remember the Americans never negotiate with terrorists. You should know that.’

  When he looked at me, it was with a triumphant gleam in his eyes.

  ‘For all your wisecracks and for all your bluster, you are a simple foot soldier who doesn’t grasp the big picture, do you? You have no idea what’s going on here, do you? So, keep shut and die quietly.’

  The sat-phone rang again and when Khalid picked it up, he smiled broadly, put the receiver down and turned on the speaker.

  The voice at the other end was American.

  ‘Whoever you are, and whatever grievances you claim to have, killing American citizens makes it impossible for us to deal with you. Release all the remaining passengers or you will face the full range of resources we have at our disposal.’

  Khalid was almost cracking up.

  What the hell did he find so funny?

  He had turned the volume up, so that the camera he had rigged up was also picking all this up, again more of the spectacle he seemed to enjoy so much.

  ‘My American friend, who are you? Some CIA negotiator sitting in Kabul? Or, perhaps some suit from the Embassy? Either way, you have no idea about the leverage we have and of just how few cards you hold. What will your government do? Storm this plane? Here, in the middle of nowhere? All the passengers will die before you manage to do anything. As for the seven of us, we are already committed to martyrdom and death holds no fear for us.’

  ‘Sir, you are underestimating the resolve of the US administration in dealing with terrorists. At least as a sign of goodwill, release the women and children.’

  Then, Khalid said something that stunned the American into silence.

  ‘If you want to talk, then show me a sign of goodwill. Kiss my ass.’

  He laughed, the American at the other end was quiet, flabbergasted at the nasty turn this conversation was taking.

  Khalid was perhaps quite mad, perhaps a trained terrorist, but the more I saw him in action, the more I was convinced that he was not just another jihadi out on a martyrdom mission. His real plan was something else. He was doing this just to get attention and buy time. That he had another agenda. He had already mentioned waiting for transport to show up. The question was: What did he really want?

  ‘And, before you call again, do your homework. Look at the passenger list.’

  Khalid glanced at one of his men, who was glued to the laptop and smiled as he spoke into the phone. ‘Your commandos in the choppers from Bagram that took off a while ago won’t get here for a couple of hours. Do you really think we’ll be sitting here waiting to be killed?’

  How the hell did he know that?

  It was possible that ISIS had spotters watching American bases, and that these guys had planned their op really well, but I had never seen jihadis who could plan things with such military precision. I had seen men who had, but they were usually the good guys. Special Ops guys of the sort that I had hung out with.

  Khalid spun around to address his men. ‘Get those media choppers out of here. They’ve done their job. Our ride’s almost here and we need to get out of here.’

  I heard some shots outside, and within seconds the whirring of rotor blades as the helicopters took off. Soon after, I heard the sounds of heavy engines. Trucks, perhaps.

  Khalid looked at me, his eyes gleaming in triumph. ‘Arif, you and Danish get him with you. I don’t want him with the other passengers. He’s likely to create a nuisance, plus if he knows I have his wife and child, he might just behave. If he acts funny, shoot him in the leg. The bosses want him alive, but they never said anything about not shooting him to shut him up. I’ll be with the rest of the boys.’

  Why did they insist on speaking to each other in English if they were really Middle Eastern jihadis and members of ISIS? What was really going on?

  My pal Arif stood in front of me, his rifle pointed at me, though I noticed he was maintaining his distance this time around. Another man, presumably Danish, kept his rifle barrel pressed against my back. Khalid and his men began gathering up their gear and went back into the Economy Class. I heard a door being opened and a popping noise followed by sounds of a brief scuffle, which ended with several shots being fired.

  An AK on single shot mode. Screaming, whimpering followed.

  My mind was racing, my heart in my mouth. Was Zoya okay? Had they hurt her or Aman?

  Several minutes passed, and I heard the sound of many engines outside. After a few more minutes, Arif reached for the walkie talkie at his shoulder and whispered into it.

  He nodded at the man behind me, and I was pulled upright and marched to the back of the plane.

  The first thing I did was look to my left, at the seats we had been sitting in. Neither Zoya nor Aman were there. There were a few bodies in the aisle, and an Emergency Exit door to the right was open. I could see that the slide had been deployed. There was no sign of Khalid or the other hijackers, or of any of the remaining passengers. They were all gone.

  It was getting weirder and weirder.

  I was pushed forward and Arif told me to go down the slide.

  ‘Where are my wife and child, you bastard?’

  He shoved me and I went careening down, out into the dusty, hot air.

  ***

  With my hands tied behind me, I had no way to break my momentum and landed hard, wincing in pain as my shoulder hit the ground. I saw that we were on a makeshift airstrip, roughly carved into the ground.

  All around us, I could see little more than craggy peaks, some of them capped with snow. This was hardly a place to land a jet, and the plane’s condition reflected it. One of the plane’s wheels seemed bent at a strange angle from the landing and a wing seemed to have hit something on the way down, with its tip bent.

  I managed to get up, but had hardly got my footing, when Arif and Danish came down the slide and one of them slammed his rifle into the back of my knee, sending me down again.

  ‘Wait till we tell you to get up, asshole.’

  There was only one pick-up truck remaining, with a driver and a man carrying an assault rifle. All the other vehicles had gone.

  The vehicle drove up to us, and I was pushed into the open back. Arif and Danish got in beside me and it set off at high speed. I thought I heard something, and looked around frantically into the clear, blue skies above.

  There!

  I spotted three black specks moving rapidly towards us. American choppers, no doubt. I was sure their Predator drones had been overhead for some time and had noticed the vehicles leaving. Their troops would swing into action.

  I hoped Khalid and his men had not booby-trapped the plane, as a last act of savagery. But the Americans would have come prepared for that. I hoped they would not waste their resources and set the choppers after the truck we were in. They needed to go after the trucks which the other passengers had been taken in, but of course there was no way I could tell them that.

  Arif was whispering into his walkie talkie again, and I kicked his shin. He glared at me.

  ‘Look, you dumb fuck, if your bosses wanted me dead, I’d already be dead. You’re a low-level shithead who can’t kill
me on his own initiative, so stop acting like you can. Just tell me where my wife and son are.’

  Arif looked at me with murder in his eyes, but I could tell that my words had hit home.

  ‘Shut up, and you’ll find out soon enough. The boss took them to make sure you came along nicely. He thought you were trouble, and I think he’s right.’

  We kept driving for a few minutes and I was silent, thinking things over. Many things did not make sense. They had got nothing that they had asked for from the Americans yet, so why had they left the plane? Why had they created the spectacle with the killings on the plane, if their plan was to take the passengers elsewhere all along. It felt like they wanted to maximise the impact not just on the American government, but on anyone watching the drama unfold on their screens.

  After twenty minutes of driving, the truck veered off the road and entered a cave just as I thought I heard a dull thud in the distance. I was asked to wait inside while Arif and Danish made a few calls. The driver was left behind to keep watch over me. I didn’t catch much of it, but I gathered they were talking to Khalid.

  Arif came back to the truck and smiled at me. ‘That noise was the plane being blown up. I hope we got some American soldiers as well. Either way, nice way to get their attention. We will stay here for a while till things cool down a bit outside.’

  I was sure the Americans would be crawling all over the valley, so I had no idea how he thought things would be cooler, but then he smiled again. Perhaps, he had seen the confusion on my face.

  ‘This whole area is controlled by the Taliban. Our bosses have paid them very well to stay away for a while. But with the explosion, they will be coming back. And. they will not allow the Americans to come in any deeper. While they fight it out, we use the distraction and slip away.’

  I had to admire whoever had thought this plan through. But they must have a base or sanctuary where they had taken the other passengers. I asked Arif where that was.

  He grinned. ‘You’ll find out soon enough. Now, just shut up and sit.’

  Then, Arif and Danish proceeded to roll joints and smoke them. I realised there was nothing I could do, not for the time being anyway. My hands were tied back and there were four men armed with automatic rifles around me.

  So, I did the only thing that made sense. I took a nap.

  When I woke, I saw Danish looking at me curiously. I had no idea how long I had been out, but both men had finished their smokes, and the driver was mumbling something about me being crazy. But I had done as I had been trained. When you lead the kind of life I had as a Para, there’s one simple principle – eat and sleep when you can, because you never know when the next meal or opportunity to rest may come around.

  ***

  When we got out of the cave, it seemed to be evening. We had probably spent several hours in hiding. They would have taken Zo, Aman and the other passengers pretty far in that time. I felt both anxiety and frustration at not being around to help take care of them.

  Arif and Danish seemed on edge and kept looking at the sky.

  ‘Smiling for the Predator?’ I asked.

  The look Arif gave me was murderous and I shut up, knowing there was nothing more to be gained by pushing these idiots till I had found out where Zo and Aman were.

  As the truck proceeded slowly up a winding road, the radio crackled to life and I heard Khalid’s voice.

  ‘Joe’s busy with the Talibs. Won’t come your way anytime soon. The Preds have been re-tasked to support that theatre. Come down now without worry.’

  I could see Arif and Danish relax visibly, though once again, what Khalid had said made me wonder who these guys really were. How did he know what the tasking orders for US drones in the area were?

  But I wasn’t complaining. The last thing I wanted was to be vaporised by a missile fired by a trigger-happy US drone operator, who thought I was one more jihadi.

  As we turned a corner, I stood up straight.

  Arif spotted the change in me and barked, ‘What’s the problem now? Sit back.’

  I did so, but didn’t tell him what was bothering me. It was hard to explain. When you’ve lived the life I’ve lived and seen the things I’ve seen, you come to realise certain things without conscious thought or rational explanation.

  Like the fact that you’re being watched.

  There!

  A glint up in the hills! A pair of binoculars? I hoped.

  Maybe some US troops had got around whatever the Taliban had got ready for them and were already up there, watching us and would come in to the rescue.

  We kept going at a steady pace for several minutes. As I kept scanning the hills, I would keep catching the occasional glint. Whoever was watching us was following us. If they were US troops, why had they not acted already? And, if Khalid seemed to know so much about US troop movements, how had he missed these guys?

  My thoughts were interrupted by the jeep screeching to a sudden halt.

  ‘Move the fucking sheep!’

  The driver had shouted in English to the little, gap-toothed shepherd boy who was crossing the road with his flock. I doubt he understood a single word that was being said because he stopped in front of the jeep and beamed at the driver. He walked up to the jeep and appeared to peer in.

  When he saw me, he smiled even more broadly and began waving his hand in the air shouting, ‘Salman Khan’.

  Just what I needed to complete an already fucked up day – a Bollywood crazy kid in the middle of some godforsaken Afghan valley. The gunman next to the driver shoved the kid, who spat at him.

  The kid was scrawny, his head topped by unruly hair that looked like a bird’s nest, and he looked no more than ten years old. However, he clearly was no pushover. He launched into some choice abuses in Pashto, and I raised my eyebrows at the quality of the expletives he was using. As I mentioned earlier, I knew a bit of Pashto, and swear words made up most of what I knew.

  The boy grudgingly walked back to his dozen sheep, making shooing noises, but the sheep seemed to be in no hurry to oblige.

  The man sitting next to me stood up to shout at the kid. Just then his head exploded in a mist of pink, and a split second later I heard the unmistakable crack of a high powered rifle.

  The men around me had clearly hung around the same sort of company I had because they immediately unslung their rifles and started scanning the hills around us.

  Next, the driver slumped against the steering wheel, his head shattered by another shot, effectively immobilizing us, making us sitting ducks.

  The gunman next to the driver, instead of ducking and moving the driver out of the seat to drive away, was now firing at the hills on the right. May be he had spotted something, or he was just hoping to get lucky.

  Idiot!

  The man should have run over the bloody sheep and gotten the jeep out of there. But I was glad he was either too dense or had too much regard for animal lives. Either way, he paid for it with his own life, as another shot took him in the neck and he was flung out of the jeep.

  All this while Arif was staring around like an imbecile. It was clear that he was hardly the sharpest tool in the shed, but this was beyond stupid. He should have taken cover, or he should have simply shot me. He may be good at what he did, but was just too conditioned to obey orders and didn’t think to kill me when things started going downhill for him and his buddies.

  Too bad, because I rocked back against the side of the jeep and kicked him squarely in the chest with both feet. He was thrown out of the vehicle and I jumped out after him.

  One on one, I was sure I could have killed him any day, but my hands were tied, so there was no question of fighting fair or waiting for him to regain his footing.

  In the movies, the good guy would have said some snippy dialogues to the bad guy and then challenged him to a fight after dramatically breaking out of his bonds. But this was no movie and I didn’t really feel like being too righteous after the way this bastard had behaved with Zoya. So, I kicked him ha
rd in the neck and as he fell back, clutching at his neck, I stomped him hard in the neck again.

  I was trying to get back to living a normal life where I didn’t have to think someone would try and kill me each day, but the events in Mumbai had taught me to never get complacent, so I was wearing my favourite combat shoes – a pair of nice steel-tipped ones gifted to me once upon a time by a visiting Israeli commando team we had trained with. A couple of kicks and Arif lay there in agony, making gurgling sounds; and then, he died.

  I didn’t take pleasure in killing a man. That would make me a monster. Every death weighed on me, but sometimes I realise that some men are better off dead, so that they cannot hurt others. Their deaths weighing on my conscience is a small price to pay.

  The kid was now grabbing my tee, pointing to the hills where the shots had come from. He produced a small knife and cut the ties binding my hands, and proceeded to bound up the rocks like a bloody mountain goat. I tried my best to keep up, but was hopelessly outmatched by him in speed and agility.

  He looked over his shoulder. ‘Hurry up, Salman Khan.’

  ‘I am not Salman Khan.’

  He grinned, as he replied cheekily and then continued his caper upwards. ‘Yeah. Salman much better looking.’

  Smartass.

  As we crested the top of the hill, I found myself looking at a man I had never thought I’d ever see again. A man wearing the clothes of a simple villager, but with a Dragunov sniper rifle slung across his back. The very man who had terrorised Mumbai and vowed to kill me. The man who had ultimately saved my life. The man I had named my son after.

  Aman Karzai.

  Four

  He didn’t even say a word when I came face to face with him but he suddenly broke into a run, signaling for me to follow him. He just kept striding through the rocks till he reached the edges of a forested area.