Empire of Gold - By Andy McDermott Page 0,1

works for a logistics company. Shipping,’ he clarified, seeing Castille’s uncertainty. ‘He transports stuff all over the world, gets things through customs. Oh, and he’s also an arsehole.’

‘Like father, like son, eh, Yorkie?’ said one of the other SAS men, Kevin Baine. Unlike Mac’s earlier remark, the estuary-accented comment was devoid of playfulness.

‘Fuck off,’ Chase replied in kind. Baine’s flat face twisted into a sneer.

‘An arse-hole,’ echoed Castille, the word somehow comical in his Belgian French intonation. ‘You do not like him, then?’

‘Haven’t spoken to him since I left home ten years ago. Not that I saw much of him even before then. He was always off travelling. And having affairs behind my mum’s back.’ The admission took him somewhat by surprise, Castille’s affable questioning having drawn more out of him than he had intended. He gave his SAS comrades warning looks, daring anyone to make a joke. Stikes’s expression suggested that he had stored the fact away in his mental database, but nobody said anything.

‘Ah, I am sorry,’ said Castille.

Chase shrugged. ‘No problem.’ He had exaggerated – as far as he knew, there had only been the one affair.

But that was enough.

Castille was about to add something when the pilot’s voice crackled over a loudspeaker: ‘Ten minutes!’ The mood instantly changed, the eight men straightening sharply in their seats. The red interior lights went out entirely, the only remaining illumination the eerie green glow of the cockpit instruments. Combat lighting, letting the troops’ eyes adapt to night-time conditions.

‘Okay,’ said Mac, now entirely serious, ‘since we were a little short on prep, let’s review the situation one last time. Alexander?’

Stikes leaned forward to address the other men. ‘Right, now listen. As you know, we’ve got eleven United Nations aid workers – and one undercover MI6 officer – being held hostage by the Taliban, and twelve spare seats in our choppers.’ He glanced towards a window; flying a hundred metres from the US Army Black Hawk was a smaller MH-6 Little Bird gunship. ‘I want all of them occupied on the way back. And I want that seat,’ he pointed at one in particular, ‘to have our spy friend in it, alive and well. He’s got information on al-Qaeda that we need – maybe even Osama’s hidey-hole.’

‘Makes you wonder if we’d be going on a rescue mission if one of ’em wasn’t a spook,’ said Bluey.

‘I don’t wonder,’ Chase told the shaven-headed Australian with dark humour.

Stikes was unamused. ‘Keep it closed, Chase. Now, the GPS trackers on the UN trucks showed they’d been taken to an abandoned farm, and as of thirty minutes ago they’re still there. A satellite pass earlier today showed one other vehicle and a couple of horses, so we estimate no more than ten to twelve of Terry Taliban. We go in, reduce that number to zero, and recover the hostages.’

‘Just to clarify the rules of engagement here,’ said Starkman in his Texan drawl, ‘we’re not only rescuing the good guys, but taking out the bad guys, am I right?’

Even in the green half-light from the cockpit, Stikes’s cold smile was clearly visible. ‘Anyone who isn’t a hostage is classified as hostile. And you know what we do to hostiles.’ Grim chuckles from the team.

‘Any more word on air support, sir?’ asked the fifth SAS trooper, a chunky Welshman called Will Green.

‘Nothing confirmed as yet,’ said Stikes. ‘All our aircraft in the region are engaged on another operation – the ones that aren’t broken down, at least. If anything becomes available, it’ll almost certainly be American.’

‘Fucking great,’ muttered Baine. ‘Anyone got spare body armour? Nothing I like more than dodging friendly fire.’

‘That’s enough of that,’ said Mac sharply. ‘If it wasn’t for our American friends, we wouldn’t even have these helicopters. Be glad we’re not driving out there in Pink Panthers.’ The SAS Land Rovers, painted in pinkish shades for desert camouflage, had inevitably acquired the nickname.

‘Sorry, sir.’ Baine gave Starkman a half-hearted nod of apology.

‘Any further questions?’ Stikes asked. There were none.

‘One last thing,’ said Mac. He regarded his men, focusing particularly on Chase. ‘You’ve all been in combat before, but this might feel different from anything else some of you have experienced. No matter what happens, just stay calm, keep focused, and remember your training. I know you can get these people to safety, so stick together, and fight to the end.’

‘Fight to the end,’ Chase echoed, along with Green and Castille.

The next few minutes passed in as near to silence as it was possible