Free The Agent Runner by Simon Conway

told us what you were going to do maybe we could have got him out earlier.’
    ‘And risk the integrity of our mission?’ Winslow shook his head. ‘Only a handful of people outside the White House situation room knew we were going after bin Laden. We’ve been burned by you Brits before.’
    And so Tariq had been sacrificed in the interests of the greater good and Ed’s work had been written off. Four years’ work, four years of burrowing Tariq into the ISI and the painstaking gathering of evidence linking the ISI to militant groups responsible for the death of coalition servicemen across Afghanistan, and evidence linking the ISI to training camps providing bomb-making lessons to British-born South Asians – all of it burned in a single operation.
    Ed went over to speak to the squad leader.
    ‘It’s a big risk letting an unknown in here,’ the squad leader said. The shadow cast by the attack at Camp Chapman was a long one.
    ‘I appreciate what you’re offering to do,’ Ed told him.
    ‘No problem,’ the man said after a pause. ‘We’re all on the same side.’
    ‘What are your rules for engaging the enemy?’ Ed asked him.
    ‘If we feel we’re in danger we can shoot. That’s the rule. Then the tactical directive says that’s fine but asks should we? There’s an interpretation that says we need to see a weapon no matter what the circumstances.’
    ‘What about on the other side?’
    The whites of the squad leader’s eyes shone in the fading afternoon light. ‘In Pakistan?’
    ‘Yes.’
    He shrugged. ‘If they’re firing at us, maybe.’
    ‘And if it’s the Pakistan Army?’
    The man shook his head. ‘Shit! I don’t know.’
    #
    Darkness came and with it another attack. The enemy launched a salvo of RPGs from a nearby ridgeline and then raked the outpost with plunging fire from the Arghush Ghar.
    They knew it was coming:
Prophet
, the American eavesdropping operation further up the valley, had warned them minutes before that there was an uptick in enemy radio communications. They ran to the mortar pit, firing shells back at grid co-ordinates they’d long since memorised, and then darted back behind the sandbags for cover.
    The squad leader called in fire support from Company Headquarters and a few minutes later, 155-millimetre artillery shells began to explode on the ridgeline. An air strike took longer. By the time an Air Force jet roared by and dropped a 500-pound bomb, the enemy fire had stopped.
    Silence followed.
    There were no casualties. It was the third such attack since Ed and Winslow had arrived at the outpost. Dusk and dawn seemed to be the most dangerous times. It was when the soldiers wore their body armour and hunkered down in their fire positions to wait.
    Ed knelt against a sandbag wall.
    You were too damn bold, Tariq, Ed thought. You were too damn confident of yourself. You should have done what you promised and stayed well away from Abbottabad and I should have made sure of it. As he was thinking this the soldier manning the tripod-mounted Long Range Acquisition System called out and his colleagues eased into their fire positions.
    ‘There’s someone out there, on the far side. I can see him on the thermal imager. He’s heading this way.’
    Ed stepped up to the observation platform and looked through the viewfinder.
    A bright white shape moving casually amongst the rocks: three thousand metres out. It was Tariq. It had to be. He’ll make it. He’ll be here soon. And when he gets here I’ll give him a bloody great hug because he’s the best damn agent we ever had and I’ll forgive him every transgression, every lie and sly barb.
    The soldier began his commentary at two thousand metres, calling out each time the target advanced a hundred metres. When he was less than a kilometre out, Ed lifted his binoculars and gazed at the dark figure flitting amongst the boulders.
    ‘Is this your man?’ Winslow said.
    ‘Hang on.’
    ‘Where is he?’ Winslow demanded. ‘Can you see