Hostage Crisis Read Online Free PDF Page A

by the time Delta Force and Faruq’s men reached the valley of the Taliban camp. Danny and Jacko did a sweep with night-vision binoculars and thermal-imaging scopes and located the glow of lookouts stationed outside the camp’s walls. There were three and they’d be dealt with silently once Connor was inside.

    Connor’s men had taken off their Baloch tribal dress to reveal their desert fatigues underneath. They’d also applied black paint to their faces, to camouflage them in the moonlight. Connor was still dressed for the shura. Faruq handed Connor a battered old AK-47. “We leave the horses here. They will expect us all to be armed. But we have to hand in our weapons at the gate and shall have them returned when we leave. No guns are allowed at shuras. Your disguise is acceptable, Major, and your grasp of Pashto sufficient to be understood. But your accent might give you away, so blend in with my men and try to avoid speaking.”
    “Agreed.” Connor slung the rifle over his shoulder. Then he thought twice and handed it back. “I’ll be staying when you leave. An extra rifle will raise suspicion. Will they search us?”
    Faruq shook his head. “Our customs require a degree of trust on such occasions.”
    Connor was relieved as he felt safer keeping his combat knife strapped to his left shin.
    Faruq led the way with his dozen men, Connor among them, along the stony path towards the glow of lamps and the gate to the Taliban’s fortified compound. A face appeared over the parapet and called out. Faruq responded. As they waited for the gates to open, Connor leaned forward and whispered, “Remember, Faruq, make damn sure you and your men are out of there by eleven thirty. And, whatever you do, don’t head north or else you might run into a rather nasty surprise.”
    Once inside and disarmed, the party were led towards a large, two-storey building. Meanwhile, outside, Sparks remained at the evac co-ordinates. He maintained radio contact with CENTCOM and the rest of Delta Force. Jacko sloped off into the night, a silencer attached to his M4 rifle, and Sam followed. Within the hour they had dealt with the external lookouts.
    Danny and Ben had the hardest job of all. Carrying the heavy blanket explosive in camouflaged backpacks they crawled lizard-like, chins in the dirt, slowly towards the south-west corner of the training camp. Progress was painfully slow with long spells lying perfectly still in the moon shadows.
    Drawing closer, they could hear voices and saw that the Taliban had posted guards on the walls and roof of the tower. Still they pressed on and, reaching the wall, slipped off their backpacks. They primed the charges and placed them in position. They were about to retreat when a sudden scuffle from the parapet above made them freeze. Someone peered down towards where they lay. Ben held his breath. Had they been heard? Gently, he reached to his belt for his Glock handgun. The face eventually vanished but before either Danny or Ben could breathe a sigh of relief, a naked backside appeared instead. And then they heard splattering and the air filled with a stink. They didn’t wait for the man to finish before retreating to the cover of some boulders.
     
     
    Faruq and his men settled down on some plump cushions. They faced the Taliban’s representatives across the room. Connor studied the camp’s leader, a man finely dressed with a golden hat made from karakul skins, and gold rings on his fingers. To his left was the camp’s mullah, and to his right was a man with his arm in a sling; Masud. Connor recognised him from intel he’d studied.
    A succession of food on trays was brought in and the feast began; spicy meat dishes, roasted corn, nuts and gallons of sweet tea. Conversation was polite and trivial. Connor had to bide his time. It was too early to act.
    With the feasting over, talk turned to the business of stolen chickens, appropriate compensation, and a string of promises. Connor could tell the