Chapter 1

I got off the Dubai flight and joined the queue at passport control. Birmingham was my hometown but none of my old schoolmates would have recognized me. I had a deep mahogany tan, and my long and very false hair was done up in a ponytail which I hated. I had a big bushy beard. I also had contact lens in that turned my blue eyes brown. I had been told I had to go home but in disguise. My passport was not in my name I had not been told what would happen when I got to Birmingham. It was done on the hurry up and all done on the QT.

I passed through the passport control and headed out through into the baggage collection area. I did not have anything to collect so headed toward the customs control area. All I had brought with me was in my hand luggage. I was still wondering what would happen once I had cleared customs.

There were two armed police officers and two customs officials who were directing folks into either the nothing to declare lane or the goods to declare lane.

I headed toward the nothing to declare but I was shepherded toward the goods to declare lane.

I have nothing to hide, there was little in my bag and absolutely nothing to worry about, so I did not argue. The guy in front of me was fidgeting, he looked guilty, guilty of what I did not know, but he looked guilty. The guy in front of him was passed through after his bag was searched.

The guy in front of me had his bag searched and was taken away for questioning as he had some conspicuous looking powder in the side pocket of his rucksack.

“Hello Sir,” said the customs guy, “and where have you flown in from?”

“Dubai” I replied with a smile.

“And are you happy me for to search your bag Sir?” he asked with a professional smile.

“Yes, please do, “I replied and returned his smile

He got all my gear out and opened my wash bag. Then he looked at one of his mates and called him over. I was not worried, there was nothing in there that would get me arrested. The two customs men were looking into my wash bag. I knew what was in there, shampoo, toothpaste toothbrush razor and shaving foam. They looked into the bag, then at me then back into the bag. Then they looked at each other.

“I am sorry, but we needed to have the contents of your wash bag checked and would like you to wait while we do it,” the first guy said

“Do I have a choice?” I asked

He looked over to where the two, armed police officers were cradling their carbines and looking at me. They were trying to look scary and failing.

I looked back at the customs guy. He smiled and I smiled back at him, but neither could be described as sincere.

“Okay let’s go,” I said, “the sooner we get this over with the better”

They took me through a door and into a featureless corridor. They opened the door of an office that had the number 22 on it.

I stepped in and they followed.

“Can I get you anything, coffee, tea, water?” the first one asked.

“No, I am all good thanks,” I said.

They handed me my bag including the wash bag and left the room. The room had a table with two chairs on either side. There was a door opposite the one I had walked in and seconds after the customs guys had left the other door opened. The man that walked in was a police inspector in full uniform with his cap under his arm. He was also ex-army which was obvious from the way he acted and the way he held himself.

“Hello Sir,” he said, and without waiting for me to answer he then said, “Please follow me!”

I did not ask any questions I just followed him. He led me down another corridor and it led into a warehouse. It was empty apart from a black range rover. it had tinted windows and the engine was running. The police officer opened the back door and I got in.

As the door closed the car was moving, there was a roller shutter door at the far end of the warehouse. It opened and we drove out into service road. Then out onto the road that led out of the airport. The range rover took the exit toward Coventry but soon pulled onto smaller country roads, then onto a track that led to a farmhouse. The driver, there only person in the car never said a word.

He pulled up outside the farmhouse, it looked abandoned there were no lights on. The driver got out of the car and walked around to my side, he opened the door, so I stepped out of the car and closed the door. Again, without saying a word he returned to the driver’s seat, and it sped off. It was a typical British winter evening; it was only six o’clock and already pitch black. The farmhouse door opened a big man stepped into the darkness.

“Hello dick head” he growled and held his hand out

“Hello, you prick,” I said as I took his hand. He pulled me in and gave me a huge bear hug.

Then he led me into the farmhouse, there was a blackout curtain once we had gone inside.

The room he took me into was bright, with plenty of lights on. There were maps and room plans on the walls. There were three other guys in the room and one lady who was studying a computer screen in the other corner of the room. All were dressed in the same ‘uniform’ black jeans, and black t-shirts and some had black fleeces.

There was a table down one side of the room with packaged sandwiches, fruit, and chocolate bars. There were bottles of water, cans of drink and a hot plate with a pot of coffee on the go.

Two of the men were watching CCTV camera footage. It looked like a live stream, over the shoulder of one of them I saw footage that was obviously a motorway.

There was one man that was obviously in charge. He came over and held out his hand.

“You must be Rosie,” he said, “Guns talks highly of you, mine name is Peters.”

I knew it would not be, he was from some government department that did not exist on paper and their staff never used their own real names. He looked shady but had a plumby public-school voice.

“Hello Sir,” I said as I shook his hand.

“Right there is gear for you in the first bedroom on the right,” he said and pointed upstairs.

I took my leave, I headed up the stairs and into the bedroom, there were clothes and shoes in my size. Black jeans, a black t-shirt, and black trainers. As I got changed guns came in.

“Put all your stuff in one of the bin bags, clothes passport, the lot mate, “he said pointing to a roll of black bin bags, I got the feeling I would never see them again.

“What’s going on then mate?” I asked as I stripped off my travelling clothes.

“It’s on the QT mate” he winked.

It was all a bit weird; Guns had been ghosted out of our base in the sandpit, and we had been told he was needed back at Hereford for specialist training. Two days later I was woken in the middle of the night and flown out of the country and into Dubai. I was taken by a military intelligence officer to a plush hotel where I had been given a new head of hair and a false beard. My picture was taken, and my new passport was delivered back to me two hours later. During that two hours, I was left to my own devices but not allowed to leave the room.

I was put on a plane full of tourists and sent back to the UK. I still did not know why I was here. After I had dressed, I turned and headed toward the stairs in the room on the opposite side of the hallway a guy was sorting out weapons, all shorts. Glock 17s, they looked used.

He smiled at me, and I gave him a wink, the pistols made it more obvious why we are here.

I walked downstairs and took a couple of sandwiches and poured a mug of coffee. There was an old couch so I sat down and tucked in, for most soldiers’ food is fuel and I got the feeling I might need fuel soon.

There was a lot of hub hub around the room. Guns poured himself a coffee and sat down next to me.

“What’s this all about mate?” I asked but before he could answer Peters stood up and called the room to order.

Everyone turned to face him.

“Right ladies and gents, please listen up,” he said commanding everyone’s full attention.

The room was silent instantly.

“Right first you may have heard of Muhammad Abdullah Khalil, he is on the most wanted list of at least six governments including our own and our friends across the pond” he pointed at some images stuck to the wall. The guy had the shifty look of a Taliban fighter, and a nasty scar on his cheek

“He is a terrorist; a bomb maker and we know of at least thirty British soldiers that have been killed by his IEDs “Peters said, “and many more have been injured”

“You may have also heard of Mohammed Hamadei, he is also on the most wanted list of at least five governments including our own and also our friends across the pond” he pointed to some more images tapped to the wall.

“Again, a terrorist, a bomber and he had been seen twice chopping the heads of US soldiers on camera,” Peters said, the disdain he felt for the man was obvious from the look on his face

“You may not have heard of Muhammad Huseyn al-Umari, he is the top money man for the Taliban in the UK, he is also the top of the tree when it comes to recruiting home-grown jihadi fighters!”

We looked at the pictures that showed Huseyn al-Umari, in every shot he was dressed in traditional dress, he was about sixty with a long grey beard.

“The last of the main players is a man you won’t have heard of Abdul Shukour, he is the country’s biggest sex slave supplier, he will arrive in the minibus with his two right-hand men, Sherraz Ahktar Khan and Mohamed Shabeer Din”

Peters pointed to another bunch of photographs pinned to the wall.

“So, what do they all have in common apart from being arse holes,” I asked.

In the regiment you asked questions, you demanded answers even from the officers above you

“Now that’s a good question, “he said, “I will hand you over to Karen for the answer to that question”

A mousey looking lady who was obviously not really called Karen stood up. I did not remember her being in the room when I arrived.

“What do they all have in common?” She smiled, “they are all in the upper echelon of the Taliban, they are all high-value targets, they all have a predilection for sex with underage girls and last and most importantly they are all in a house around fifteen miles away from here with we think around ten other UK based Taliban leaders and money men”

“Fuck off, some of the baddest of the bad are just around the corner” Guns asked

“Yes, we have had good intelligence to say they will be there tonight, “Karen said, “we are tracking a Pakistani national that traffics young girls out of the UK to work as sex workers in the middle east, he gave the game away”

“The problem is we do not know how Khalil and Hamadei got into the country, we don’t know why they are here, and we don’t know when or how they plan to leave., but what we do know is that al-Umari has arranged a little party for the rest of the guys,” Peters said.

“He has worked with our targets before and we believe he has been called in to return a favour, our target is bringing five girls down from Bradford for the guys to party with, not that the girls will enjoy it”

“And what do you want from us?” Guns asked.