Assassin (John Stratton) (26 page)

The buildings and pathways were so much more visible from his vantage point. Stratton signalled Hetta to lower him, and he descended. She watched and as he was almost out of sight his hand went up. She stopped him. He stepped off the strop onto the crate, removed the looped ends from the hook, threaded them through the crate’s lifting strops and returned them to the hook.

He waved above the fence and the crane’s engine revved a little as the hook began to rise. It rose up off the pick-up and once again he focused his attention on the compound. He could only pray no one came outside. It would greatly upset his plans.

And then, as if the gods had heard and decided to play with him, a door opened in one of the prefabs and a broad shaft of white light spread deep into the car park. Stratton watched the man walk out of the building, down the side of the structure and in through another. He appeared to have no interest in looking anywhere other than where he was going.

Stratton breathed a sigh of relief and Hetta swung the crate over the fence and brought him down to the ground. As the crate made contact, the strops slackened and he unhooked them. He unfastened the latches on the side of the crate and removed the lid. Inside was a piece of machinery he didn’t recognise.

Stratton attached the lifting strops to a strong point on
the machinery and signalled for her to raise it. The part rose out of the crate and Hetta swung it to one side and lowered it to the ground. Meanwhile Stratton removed the blanket covering the box on the Hilux. She was quickly repositioning the hook above him and he secured the black box to the strops and she raised it up, swung it around and positioned it above the empty crate.

He guided it down into the crate, which it fitted with room to spare, so Stratton removed the strops and replaced the lid. Then she swung him and the crate up and onto the back of the pick-up in the CAMCO compound. He removed the strop, took a moment to check everything was in place and nothing was left to indicate any disturbance, then he reached up an arm and was quickly sailing back over the fence.

‘A tidy job,’ he said, once they were back in the Hilux. ‘Are you sure crane operating wasn’t your true calling?’

She said nothing so he started the engine and drove them out of the lot, onto the main road that paralleled the runway, towards the opposite end of the airfield from where they’d waited earlier in the day.

It didn’t take long to hit a military checkpoint – a small guardhouse beyond two vehicle dam systems built into the two road lanes and big enough to present a serious obstacle to all but the largest tanks. Five American soldiers dressed in defence of the cold, on top of full combat gear including helmets, stood around a coal fire in an oil drum.

One of the men put out a cigarette and walked over to the Hilux, cradling an M4 in one arm. Stratton turned on
the cab light so that the soldier could see him and the vehicle’s interior. The young man’s expression hardened on seeing Stratton’s unshaven face.

‘This is a military checkpoint, sir. You need to back out of here and head around that way.’

Stratton held out his ID card. ‘Excuse the scruffy appearance. I’m military,’ he said.

The soldier took the card, inspected it and looked at Hetta. His expression changed on seeing her. ‘Weren’t you in the mess hall this afternoon?’ he asked her.

She didn’t respond, giving him the same silent treatment she gave everyone else as she handed him her ID.

‘I need to put these through verification,’ the soldier said. ‘One minute please.’

He walked to the guard house, saying something to the others as he went inside the shack. They looked in the direction of the Hilux. The soldier came back out of the guard hut carrying a small device. He placed one of the cards into a slot and offered it to Stratton. ‘Put in your pin code, please sir,’ he said.

It looked like a credit card machine. Stratton punched in his code and thought he saw the clearance come up as he handed it back to the soldier. The soldier removed the card and handed it back to him. ‘Thank you, sir. Ma’am,’ he said, handing her the device after placing her card in it.

Hetta keyed in a number. The other soldiers had gradually closed in to get a better look at the ‘specials’, in particular Hetta.

The soldier studying the device looked surprised as it
completed Hetta’s verification. ‘Wow. I’ve never seen a clearance that high before out here,’ he said, removing the card and handing it back to her. ‘You have a good day, ma’am. Sir.’ He stepped back and saluted.

The vehicle dam slowly sank into the road and they drove through, watched by the soldiers. They went along the edge of the airfield, passing rows of US military aircraft: rotor wings, FA-18 jets, a squadron of Apache helicopters and several Predator drones in an open hangar. Stratton turned a tight corner to cut across the airfield on the designated vehicle route and they waited for the green signal light.

As they drove across the main runway to the other side of the airfield, they went past the row of hangars and warehouses they’d passed earlier on the road. Several large civilian aircraft were parked up on the broad skirt for the night. Stratton pulled the Hilux into a civilian car park and brought it to a stop nose-to the lot fence, the headlights illuminating pallets on the other side packed high with crates, all secured beneath large rope nets.

‘This is where the civvy cargo gets processed,’ he said, looking at a jet parked a few hundred metres away with the CAMCO logo on its tail. ‘And that’s our plane.’

He turned off the engine and lights, reclined his seat and made himself comfortable. ‘We’ve got a few hours before this place comes to life.’

She sat still, looking at nothing in particular. He mulled over the next phase. If all went well, they’d be out of Afghanistan in a matter of hours.

‘Where are you based?’ she asked.

‘Poole, in Dorset. You know where that is?’

‘Yes.’

He wondered how. ‘Where’re you from?’ he asked, doubting she’d answer.

She didn’t speak right away. Stratton took it as her usual closed door. ‘I like Switzerland,’ she said.

It was a surprise that she answered. ‘What’s your favourite part?’ he asked.

‘There are many. Lake Geneva perhaps. Outside of the city. Towards the Alps.’

‘I’ve driven to the French Alps from Geneva a number of times. I take it you like to ski?’

‘Yes.’

‘I don’t like the resorts. Too crowded. I usually go cross-country.’

‘It’s the only way to ski,’ she said, as she lowered her seat. ‘You can sleep if you want. I won’t.’

He took that as a signal her conversation moment had maxed out. He wouldn’t sleep either, not after the long afternoon nap he’d had. They sat in silence for several hours. She seemed just as able as Stratton at waiting. They watched a single vehicle arrive and a woman in a heavy coat climb out and walk into one of the warehouses.

The place gradually came to life and by 5 a.m., even though it was still dark, the area was getting pretty busy. Two vehicles, nose to tail, drove into the freight compound in front of them on the other side of the mesh fence. They were CAMCO pick-ups, the logos on the door hard to
miss. Stratton was pretty certain they were the two from the compound.

He watched the drivers climb out, both of them wearing thick coats. He recognised them from the chow hall. The pair had a brief chat with a man who’d joined them. He looked like he worked in the freight yard. They exchanged paperwork and the man walked to a forklift tractor. He gunned it to life and drove it over to the back of the first pick-up.

They watched the tractor lift the crate holding the nuclear device off the bed and carry it across the yard and deposit it on a large, empty pallet. Then it unloaded the rest of the crates onto the same pallet. The CAMCO men did some more paperwork before they climbed back into the pick-ups and drove off the compound.

The freight man secured a heavy net over the pallet then went back to the lifter, picked the pallet up and eased out of the yard with it, out of sight beyond several containers. Stratton and Hetta climbed out of the Toyota to watch the tractor go to the back of the CAMCO cargo aircraft and place the pallet on the rear ramp. A couple of crewmen rolled it into the belly of the aircraft and out of sight.

‘Nice when a plan goes to plan, don’t you think?’ he said.

She didn’t respond.

The forklift pulled away and headed back to the yard. All they had to do now was get on the plane. He felt the pistol at his holster. He’d keep it on him and leave everything else behind. Hetta kept her Magnum in its holster at her hip, which her new fleece largely covered.

Together they walked out of the car park towards the plane. They knew someone would eventually realise the Hilux had been abandoned and would find the weapons inside. But it would be just another Afghan mystery. They headed for the side of the aircraft in front of the wings where a set of steps led through an open door into the cargo hold.

‘Why don’t you do the talking on this one,’ Stratton said.

The two crewmen were inside the cavernous cabin securing the pallet as Stratton and Hetta climbed in. Aside from half a dozen seats near the front, and the pallet lashed in the centre, the plane was empty. A crewman operated a switch and the rear ramp began to close with a high-pitched whine.

Both crewmen stopped as they saw the two strangers. Stratton didn’t recognise either of them from the chow hall.

‘Can I help you?’ one asked, his accent American.

‘Is Doug on board?’ Hetta asked.

‘Sure. I’ll go get ’im for you.’

The crewman passed Hetta and Stratton and went through a narrow doorway into the cockpit. A moment later the pilot stepped from the cockpit, dressed just the same as he had been the day before in his airman’s jumpsuit, followed by the crewman watching on curiously.

The pilot looked surprised to see the pair of them. ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘What can I do for you guys?’

‘We decided to take you up on your offer of a ride,’ Hetta said.

He didn’t look too overjoyed at the prospect.

‘I need to get Stateside and you’re the first flight I can get on,’ she added.

‘We’re going to Houston.’

‘That’s exactly where I need to go.’

Stratton wondered if Doug had been insincere and was now regretting the offer he’d made. It wasn’t uncommon for Westerners to help out other Westerners, contractors or military, with flights in and out of Afghanistan. They were in a war zone and that’s how things were done, as long as people had the right credentials. The contractors could circumvent Afghan bureaucracy while they were tagged alongside a US military base, and so it was entirely up to the pilot.

Stratton wondered what Hetta would do if he decided not to fly them out of there. The guy had a nuclear bomb on board. He doubted she was about to let it go without her. And offloading it to try someone else would be problematic for too many reasons. Stratton had the feeling that if the airman didn’t play ball, things were going to turn out badly for him.

Hetta was looking into Doug’s eyes, reading him, waiting for a sign.

‘I’ll need your IDs,’ he said. ‘I have to call them in to the military and add them to the manifest.’

Stratton didn’t think that meant he’d relented. It was as if he’d thrown down an obstacle that he hoped they might stumble on.

Hetta held out her ID for him. Stratton did the same.
The pilot looked at them. Hetta’s was from the US State Department and Stratton’s was British special forces. Doug looked between the pictures and the faces in front of him. He would have no idea what such IDs looked like for real. They could be fake for all he knew. But on the other hand, the IDs stated that the two peculiar-looking persons, peculiar compared with the average soldier you came across in the camps, were VIPs. Unordinary. That would explain their looks. And her weapon. And how apparently they could go anywhere they wanted to go on the base.

The pilot’s expression changed. ‘I guess these’ll do,’ he said. ‘No sense in going through all the palaver of manifesting you at the movements centre. You can do the paperwork in Houston.’

‘Thanks,’ Hetta said with a smile Stratton knew she’d forced.

Doug was still looking pensive about his new guests. ‘You can both sit here,’ he said. ‘Jim will take care of the safety brief. I’ll get us airborne and we can talk later.’

Doug left them to the crewman. Hetta and Stratton took a seat and settled back for the ride. He looked at her for any sign of relief. He wasn’t surprised to find no trace of any.

The four jet engines fired up, but the crew took another half-hour to prepare the flight. Stratton spent the entire time looking for signs that things weren’t going as expected. When the heavy plane began to taxi, his uneasiness reduced. The take-off was a short one due to the lack of weight and the pilot took the craft into an immediate steep climb.

It wasn’t long before the noise from the engines decreased substantially as the pilot hit cruising altitude. It was light outside and would be throughout the flight as the aircraft kept pace with the sun. The weather was clear and there was no turbulence. Stratton checked his watch.

‘What time do we get in?’ he asked one of the crewmen who happened to be passing.

‘Winds look like they’re in our favour,’ the crewman said. ‘Captain thinks we could arrive in Houston early afternoon. You guys want any coffee or snacks, just help yourself around the corner there.’

‘Thanks,’ Stratton said.

The crewman went to the back of the plane to check on the lines securing the pallets. Satisfied, he took a seat and made himself comfortable. Stratton looked over at Hetta, who’d closed her eyes.

He wondered how she was going to get the bomb off the flight and to wherever it was headed. He guessed that once they were on the ground, people from Langley or the State Department would take over. His name was eventually going to come up on someone’s radar back home regarding his visit to Afghanistan. His details had been recorded at more than one checkpoint. The British SIS would learn of the part he’d played in the acquisition of the Pakistani bomb. The Yanks might openly thank the Brits for Stratton’s contribution in getting it out of country. But at some stage he was going to be asked to explain, to both the Yanks and the Brits, how he knew so much about the warhead and its whereabouts.