before the explosion. We have everything
except sound. ”
The woman in the video
wandered into the middle of the pub ’ s dining area. A few
seconds later, she ripped open her cardigan and shouted something. The video ’ s resolution was too low to make out what was around her waist, but it
was pretty obvious from the frightened screams of the victims. The bomb vest
exploded and the CCTV feed ended.
Everybody in the conference
room groaned, even Sarah.
“ An initial background has been compiled, ” said
Howard. “ The bomber ’ s name was Caroline Pugh. She was white, middle-aged, and worked a
full-time job as a legal secretary. I ’ m working on getting
a deeper background, but so far she doesn ’ t
appear to be a typical terrorist either. ”
“ What is a typical terrorist? ” Sarah
asked.
Howard sighed. “ You know what I mean. I ’ m not being racist,
just realistic. At the very least, you would expect a terrorist to be from
another country or part of a group with an agenda. Jeffrey Blanchfield and
Caroline Pugh were average UK citizens. It doesn ’ t
make any sense. How do they connect to Shab Bekhier and the man in the videotape? ”
“ I don ’ t know, ” Sarah admitted. “ But I know who the man in the videotape is. ”
Everyone stared at her.
Bradley stopped typing.
Sarah thought about the man
she ’ d just watched onscreen.
She hadn ’ t been positive of his
identity until he ’ d spoken his
final words: Sometimes only death can ensure life. ” The man in the tape is Wazir Hesbani, ” she said. “ I ’ d know his face anywhere, because he ’ s the man who took mine. ”
AFGHANISTAN, 2008
Sarah
blinked. She took a deep breath, but instead of oxygen she got smoke and
fumes. A rising pressure in her head threatened to split her skull and she
realised she was upside down, hanging by her seatbelt.
Everything came rushing back.
The woman, the watermelons, Miller ripped apart by an explosion, and then white
light followed by utter darkness.
Had they hit an IED?
Sarah craned her neck and glanced
around inside the Land Rover. She saw shapes in the darkness. “ Hamish. Hamish? Anyone? Sound off. ”
There was nothing, just
silence and smoke. Sarah was lucky to be alive. She needed to know which of
her men were still breathing and get them the hell out of there.
She pulled out the small
flick-blade she kept on her belt. She wished it was a machete, but it would
have to do. With it she began sawing at the strap around her waist, gritting
her teeth as she did so. There was a white hot burning in her left thigh, but
in the darkness she couldn ’ t see the cause.
Voices.
For a moment, Sarah thought
that one of her squad had awoken, but then she realised the voices were coming
from further away. After what had happened, the approaching strangers were
more likely enemies than friends. Why do they hate us so much?
Sarah ground her teeth and
swore through pursed lips. She sawed harder at the seatbelt and had to blink
as either sweat or blood filled her eyes. Her face throbbed almost as badly as
her leg and she remembered her reflection in the Snatch ’ s
visor. There had been an open wound beneath her left eye, halfway down her cheek.
“ Hamish … anybody? If you ’ re breathing, now is the time to look lively. ”
Silence.
“ Damn it! ” Sarah had sliced halfway through her belt now, but the
voices outside were getting closer. She had only minutes before they were
right on top of her.
The nylon seatbelt held itself
together by one last measly thread. Finally, it snapped, and Sarah slipped
free. Her head hit the roof panel of the Land Rover and her teeth clacked
together, but she shook away the stars immediately.
The voices were right on top
of her now.
Sarah snapped into action. Her
training and instincts made her focus on the task at hand and not the pain and
fear. There would be