Kill or Capture by Craig Simpson

CHAPTER ONE
Jabir escapes
Kandahar Prison, Afghanistan
    The giant wolf spider was the size of a man’s hand and very, very fast. In the darkness it scurried over the floor of the prison cell and climbed onto Jabir’s outstretched arm. When it ran across his face, he awoke with a start and cried out. He shot bolt upright and frantically slapped his cheeks until certain it was gone.
    “Curse these Americans for keeping me in this prison,” the elderly Taliban commander whispered, smoothing down his beard. He gazed into the darkness. “But revenge will taste as sweet as honey.”
    Jabir imagined the flash of his sword as it sliced off the heads of his enemies. It was the same vision he had nearly every night, and he never grew tired of it. The face of one of his enemies was particularly clear; the man who’d taken him prisoner — Major Nathan Connor. “One day, inshallah ,” he muttered. “One day soon, major.”
    And then Jabir heard something: a curiously dull, rhythmic tapping. It came from beneath the floor. He knelt and pressed an ear against the concrete. He heard it again. “Ibrahim, wake up,” he whispered to his slumbering cellmate. He reached out and shook him. “Wake up! Our brothers are coming.”
    Curled up on the floor, Ibrahim stirred and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.
    The tapping grew louder. A crack appeared in the floor. Jabir could see lamplight from the tunnel beyond. The hole widened. Eventually, a dirt-covered face emerged.

    “ Assalam u alaikum . Peace be upon you, Uncle Jabir.” The teenage boy climbed up and held out his arms triumphantly.
    “It’s good to see you, Shafiq.” They embraced and bumped shoulders, greeting the Afghan way.
    Shafiq was followed by three men, all Taliban, all armed with AK-47s and grenades. “We’ve dug from the canning factory and under the main road, uncle. We have worked day and night for months. We have infiltrated the guards, too. Some have been bribed, others given a sleeping draught. We plan to get everyone out.”

    “You have done well.”
    “Everything is arranged. My father, Faisal, and the others await you. They have clean clothes and transport. By sunrise you will be far away from here. Others will make for the old town. There they shall cause much trouble when the Afghan army and Americans come for them. They know that they are to seize two hostages and bring them to you. I will stay to make sure everything goes to plan. It will be just as you asked, Uncle Jabir. Now, go.”
    Jabir peered down into the tunnel and listened to the hum of the electric fans needed to maintain a supply of breathable air. He climbed down the rickety, makeshift ladder into the tunnel, with Ibrahim close behind. Now he was a free man, he could lead his men once more. The Taliban would rise up, stronger. Prisoners were loyal to his jihad, his Holy War, and would greatly swell his ranks.
    The men crawled on all fours. “Soon the stinking gutters of this crowded city will run red with the blood of the infidel,” the Taliban leader muttered.
    “Yes, Jabir, and soon the country will be rocked by your masterful and deadly plan.”

CHAPTER TWO
Connor’s call
Camp Delta
    In his tented quarters at Camp Delta, General Patterson, the head of ISAF’s Central Command (CENTCOM), had just soaped up his chin and begun shaving with his cut-throat razor when a sergeant burst in. “Sir?”
    â€œArrgh! Goddamnit!” Blood trickled down Patterson’s neck. He flung the razor down and spun round. “What?”
    The sergeant explained that he’d just received news of the mass prison break-out.
    Patterson wiped away the blood and suds with the towel draped about his neck and bellowed, “How many?”
    â€œThree hundred and forty-seven, sir. Including the Taliban commander, Jabir Hassani.”
    â€œHassani. Jeeezzzusss!” Tightness gripped the general’s chest as he recalled Jabir’s ruthlessness, the years it had taken to capture