Free A Covert War by Michael Parker Page B

in the rights of their cause and what they believed was the defence of their faith.
    David had seen Abdul briefly before the meal had been served, but the man had said nothing to him, especially about the strange remark regarding David’s freedom. Once the men had finished and women appeared to clear the table, the room began to empty until there was only Abdul and David remaining.
    Abdul Khaliq cut an imposing and dominating figure. He was an intimidating man and had an aura about him that demanded allegiance from his men. His reputation went before him, and to be in his presence was almost to be subdued.
    He carried himself well, having a fine physique, although it was difficult to detect beneath the traditional Arab clothes he was wearing. There was no sign of any weapon on him, not even the pantomime belt and scimitar. And in front of David, who did not have an imposing presence at all, Abdul had no need for a display of weaponry of any sort.
    Abdul moved along to the end of the table where David was sitting and took a seat. David waited patiently, having no other option, until Abdul spoke.
    ‘Your freedom,’ Abdul began, ‘can now be exchanged for something.’
    David felt a surge of relief, but he said nothing because he knew that men like Abdul and his kind were always very patient, and their words and arguments could be stretched almost indefinitely.
    ‘We have kept you with us for a long time because it is always useful to have somebody who may be of use to us in our war against the infidel.’ He stopped there and regarded David with a look that seemed to search deep into his soul. ‘I know you were working for British Intelligence at the Mission.’
    David opened his mouth in surprise, but Abdul held his hand up.
    ‘Please do not try to deny it. Your work for The Chapter was simply a cover, but now that is no longer important. What is important now is how I can use you, and how we can secure your release.’
    David waited until he believed he could say something. ‘You mean a hostage exchange, or something like that?’ he asked.
    Abdul didn’t answer the question; he simply ignored it.
    ‘The men who attacked the compound were not soldiers.’ David frowned at that assertion. ‘They were mercenaries employed by the same group who attacked the Mission.’
    ‘What group?’ David asked immediately.
    Abdul shook his head. ‘At the moment, that is not important. But I believe those men were being used by someone within British and American Intelligence to bring discredit on the Taliban.’
    ‘But you are not Taliban,’ David pointed out.
    Abdul put his hand up. ‘That is not important; it was done for other reasons. Your people in the West will believe anything. But there was another reason behind the attack on our compound.’
    David waited for an explanation but nothing came for a while. ‘What was the reason then?’ he asked eventually.
    ‘At the moment it isn’t necessary for you to know or even to understand the reasons why,’ Abdul told him. ‘But what you must understand is that I want you to do something for me that could bring you your freedom.’
    David could think of nothing he could do, given the circumstances of his confinement that could help Abdul in any way. But he asked, naturally.
    ‘What can I do?’ He shrugged his shoulders.
    ‘You wrote something, a long time ago. Remember?’
    David thought back to when he had been taken from the hospital. One of Abdul’s men had given him a notebook and asked him to write down what had happened at the Mission. David needed time to bring himself to recall on paper exactly what he had seen and what had transpired. And when he had written just a couple of pages, the book had been taken away from him. He decided then it was the beginning of their mind games; deprivation: giving something and then taking it away.
    While David was thinking, Abdul watched him carefully.
    ‘We took the book and removed a lot of the empty pages. Then we soiled