retribution wasn't what he wanted. It wasn't what
he needed. He needed oblivion.
He ordered himself a pint and set about trying to forget.
*
Don Priestley looked at the Director General of MI5.'That
was a shitty thing to have to do, Lowther,' he said.
Pankhurst shrugged, as if what had just occurred had
barely affected him. 'Nothing like as bad as what will happen
if we don't get our hands on Ahmed. We can't have another
9/11, Don. London won't tolerate it. I won't let it happen.'
'You really think this guy is our best bet?'
'I've done my homework, Don. I've spoken to people,
asked around. When Will Jackson was in the SAS, he had
a reputation. He was the soldier everyone wanted. You've
seen the missions he's led - Iraq, Sudan, crucially Afghanistan.
You've heard of Gray Fox?'
'Yeah, thanks, Lowther. I've heard of Gray Fox. 'Of course
he had. Formerly known as the US Army Intelligence
Support Activity unit, Gray Fox was headed up by Delta
Force, but worked closely with the Seals, the SBS and the
SAS. And he'd read about Jackson's exploits with the unit
in Iraq. According to his file, they'd received intelligence
that a group of six suicide bombers were planning a hit in
Baghdad. Jackson had led a surveillance team, dressed up in
Arab gear, that had followed all six bombers back to a house
in the Iraqi capital and all the information they had pointed
to the likelihood that they would be strapping up and getting
ready to leave within the hour. Raiding the house would
have been a dangerous option, because all it would have
taken was one flick of a switch and both the bombers and
the Gray Fox team would have gone up like a bonfire. Yet
they couldn't risk letting them back out into the capital.
Jackson's solution had been high-risk. He and his team
had staked out the place, posting Regiment snipers all around
the house. If a single sniper had been compromised - a
distinct possibility in that hostile territory where, if just one
Iraqi passer-by had suspected something, the alarm would
have been raised - the bombers would have known they
were there. Moreover, the shooters had to hold their nerve
until all six bombers were out of the house and in their
sights.
Against the odds, Jackson's team had managed it, killing
all six men at the same time before they could warn each
other or go out and do their bloody work. They'd made a
little piece of SAS history that day. Priestley had heard that
even Delta Force had a grudging respect for the success of
the operation and that was like praise from Caesar.
But that was in the past and from what he had seen, Will
Jackson wasn't the same any more. 'Lowther,' Priestley said.
'I agree that back in the day he was the man. But now?
He's a mess. Has he got any fight left in him? Christ, I don't
blame the guy. Look what's happened to him. But you can't
put someone like that into the field of war. If you can't trust
any of your guys, why don't I just get Washington to send
Delta Force in?'
Pankhurst's lips went thin. 'You'll excuse me for pointing
out, I hope, Don, that the last time Delta Force and the
SAS were on active service in Afghanistan, it was the British
special forces who fared rather better.'
Priestley fell silent.
'Will Jackson was in Afghanistan in the summer of 2002,'
Pankhurst continued, implacably. 'He led a four-man unit
behind enemy lines and reconnoitred there for two weeks,
sending regular updates on al-Qaeda positions. The day he
was called back to base, the unit was spotted by two scouts,
who shot and badly wounded one of the unit. Will Jackson
hunted them down before they could report back, killed
them, hid their bodies where they wouldn't be found, then
single-handedly carried his wounded colleague back to base
in the midsummer heat. You might think he's a mess, but
he's skilled, well-trained, resourceful and - most importantly
- he has a reason to find Faisal Ahmed.'
Pankhurst let that sink in before continuing.
'He reacted to the news about his family much as
he needed. He needed oblivion.
He ordered himself a pint and set about trying to forget.
*
Don Priestley looked at the Director General of MI5.'That
was a shitty thing to have to do, Lowther,' he said.
Pankhurst shrugged, as if what had just occurred had
barely affected him. 'Nothing like as bad as what will happen
if we don't get our hands on Ahmed. We can't have another
9/11, Don. London won't tolerate it. I won't let it happen.'
'You really think this guy is our best bet?'
'I've done my homework, Don. I've spoken to people,
asked around. When Will Jackson was in the SAS, he had
a reputation. He was the soldier everyone wanted. You've
seen the missions he's led - Iraq, Sudan, crucially Afghanistan.
You've heard of Gray Fox?'
'Yeah, thanks, Lowther. I've heard of Gray Fox. 'Of course
he had. Formerly known as the US Army Intelligence
Support Activity unit, Gray Fox was headed up by Delta
Force, but worked closely with the Seals, the SBS and the
SAS. And he'd read about Jackson's exploits with the unit
in Iraq. According to his file, they'd received intelligence
that a group of six suicide bombers were planning a hit in
Baghdad. Jackson had led a surveillance team, dressed up in
Arab gear, that had followed all six bombers back to a house
in the Iraqi capital and all the information they had pointed
to the likelihood that they would be strapping up and getting
ready to leave within the hour. Raiding the house would
have been a dangerous option, because all it would have
taken was one flick of a switch and both the bombers and
the Gray Fox team would have gone up like a bonfire. Yet
they couldn't risk letting them back out into the capital.
Jackson's solution had been high-risk. He and his team
had staked out the place, posting Regiment snipers all around
the house. If a single sniper had been compromised - a
distinct possibility in that hostile territory where, if just one
Iraqi passer-by had suspected something, the alarm would
have been raised - the bombers would have known they
were there. Moreover, the shooters had to hold their nerve
until all six bombers were out of the house and in their
sights.
Against the odds, Jackson's team had managed it, killing
all six men at the same time before they could warn each
other or go out and do their bloody work. They'd made a
little piece of SAS history that day. Priestley had heard that
even Delta Force had a grudging respect for the success of
the operation and that was like praise from Caesar.
But that was in the past and from what he had seen, Will
Jackson wasn't the same any more. 'Lowther,' Priestley said.
'I agree that back in the day he was the man. But now?
He's a mess. Has he got any fight left in him? Christ, I don't
blame the guy. Look what's happened to him. But you can't
put someone like that into the field of war. If you can't trust
any of your guys, why don't I just get Washington to send
Delta Force in?'
Pankhurst's lips went thin. 'You'll excuse me for pointing
out, I hope, Don, that the last time Delta Force and the
SAS were on active service in Afghanistan, it was the British
special forces who fared rather better.'
Priestley fell silent.
'Will Jackson was in Afghanistan in the summer of 2002,'
Pankhurst continued, implacably. 'He led a four-man unit
behind enemy lines and reconnoitred there for two weeks,
sending regular updates on al-Qaeda positions. The day he
was called back to base, the unit was spotted by two scouts,
who shot and badly wounded one of the unit. Will Jackson
hunted them down before they could report back, killed
them, hid their bodies where they wouldn't be found, then
single-handedly carried his wounded colleague back to base
in the midsummer heat. You might think he's a mess, but
he's skilled, well-trained, resourceful and - most importantly
- he has a reason to find Faisal Ahmed.'
Pankhurst let that sink in before continuing.
'He reacted to the news about his family much as
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