The Spider Shepherd Collection 8-10

by Stephen Leather

Genres: Action & Adventure; Thrillers

Synopsis

'Let Spider draw you into his web - you won't regret it' Sun The 8th, 9th and 10th thrillers in Stephen Leather's bestselling Spider Shepherd series, available in one all-action collection, including FAIR GAME, FALSE FRIENDS and TRUE COLOURS. Fair Game When Somali pirates seize the crew of a yacht off the coast of Africa, they bite off more than they can chew. One of the hostages has friends in high places and Spider Shepherd is put on the case. But as Shepherd closes in on his quarry he realises that there's much more at stake than the lives of the hostages and that the pirates are involved in a terrorist plot that will strike at the heart of London. False Friends The most wanted man in the world is dead. Now those loyal to him seek revenge. When Navy Seals track down and kill Osama Bin Laden in Pakistan, al-Qaeda realise they have a traitor in their midst. After the false friends are revealed to be two British students, Malik and Chaudhry, Dan 'Spider' Shepherd must teach the pair how to survive undercover. True Colours The Russian oligarchs are the world's new elite. They treat the world as their plaything, travelling without borders and living lives of unimaginable luxury without fear or restraint. But when an assassin starts killing off some of the world's richest men, an oligarch with friends in high places seeks the protection of MI5. And Spider Shepherd is placed in the firing line.

Release date: July 16, 2015

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton

Print pages: 1074

Sample

Seal Alpha stood up, bracing himself against the fuselage. ‘Lock and load!’ he shouted. ‘Five minutes and counting.’ His name was Adam Croft and he was the ranking non-commissioned officer and leader of the mission, a ten-year veteran of the Navy Seals who had spent half of those years serving in Iraq and Afghanistan. There were thirteen Navy Seals sitting on the floor of the UH-60 Black Hawk helicopter. All the seats had been stripped out to keep the payload to a minimum. The Seals weren’t in any way superstitious and thirteen was the maximum number that could be squeezed into the belly of the helicopter. All thirteen had been hand-picked by Croft.

The Seals started chambering rounds as Croft and the Black Hawk crew chief readied the four ropes that they would be using to abseil down into the courtyard close to the main house. They were all dressed in the same desert camouflage fatigues and bulletproof vests but their headwear varied. Some favoured Kevlar helmets, others wore scarves or floppy hats. Their weapons varied too. Most cradled M4 rifles fitted with noise suppressors but there were several Heckler & Koch MP7 carbines and one pump-action shotgun. They all wore noise-cancelling headsets to neutralise the roar of the Black Hawk’s two General Electric T700 turboshaft engines.

The co-pilot waved again. Three fingers. ‘Three minutes, guys!’ shouted Croft. He peered through a window. They were flying over houses and roads, but there were no street lights and almost all the homes were in darkness. Abbottabad didn’t have much in the way of nightlife and it was now almost one o’clock in the morning. He couldn’t see the second helicopter but he knew it would be close by, somewhere to starboard.

The helicopters were in full stealth mode, their engines quietened, their bodies covered with a radar-dampening fabric coating, their tail sections modified, including extra blades on the tail rotors. Pakistan was supposedly America’s ally in the war against terrorism, but no one in the White House took that alliance seriously and the Pakistani authorities had not been informed of the mission.

The turbines powered down and the nose pitched up as the helicopter transitioned into a hover.

‘This is it, guys – go to night vision!’ shouted Croft.

The men removed their noise-cancelling headsets and pulled on their night-vision goggles, pressing the button on the right-hand side that activated them. Croft pulled on his own and blinked as they flicked on, casting everything in a green hue. The Seals were from the Naval Special Warfare Development Group but everyone knew them as Team Six. So far as US special forces went, they were the best of the best. They had been training for the mission for more than six weeks in North Carolina followed by another three weeks at Camp Alpha, a highly secure area of Bagram Air Base in Afghanistan.

The Black Hawk hovered about a hundred feet above the building. It was a manoeuvre the pilot had practised a hundred times over a mock-up of the compound at Camp Alpha. Contractors had built a replica of the compound and the three-storey building, complete with contents. He eased back on the power and the helicopter began to descend. He scanned the instruments but he was flying by feel, as if the helicopter was an extension of his own body.

‘One hundred feet,’ said his co-pilot.

The helicopter slowly dropped, the backwash kicking up dust in the compound below.

‘Ninety feet,’ said the co-pilot.

The pilot smiled to himself. He didn’t need the verbal reminder of how high they were; he could do this bit with his eyes closed.

‘Eighty feet,’ said the co-pilot. ‘All good.’

The pilot grinned. He knew it was all good. Compared to some of the missions he’d been on in Iraq this was a piece of cake. At least no one was firing missiles at him.

The helicopter began to shudder and he had to fight the pedals to keep it from swinging around.

‘What’s the problem?’ asked the co-pilot.

The nose pitched down and then just as quickly reared up. Both men scanned the instruments, trying to see if there was a technical problem, but everything seemed to be working perfectly; it was just that the helicopter was refusing to respond. It began to spin to the left as it continued to descend, faster now.

‘Seventy feet,’ said the co-pilot.

The juddering intensified and the pilot felt the rudder pedals banging up and down, beating a rapid tattoo on the soles of his feet. ‘I’m losing it,’ he said. ‘We’re going to have to abort.’

The helicopter continued to spin and the pilot pulled on the collective to increase power, then pushed the cyclic forward trying to get the helicopter moving forward.

‘We’re going down!’ shouted the co-pilot.

The pilot gritted his teeth as he fought to regain control of the helicopter but nothing seemed to be working. It bucked and tossed like a living thing and his hands were aching from the strain of gripping the controls. ‘Help me with the cyclic!’ he shouted. ‘I’m losing it.’

The co-pilot grabbed at the cyclic between his legs but it was too late: the helicopter was spinning out of control and losing height rapidly.

The pilot twisted round in his seat. ‘We’re going down!’ he shouted. ‘Brace, brace, brace!’

His words were lost in the roar of the turbines but the Seals knew that they were in trouble and they grabbed on to whatever support they could find.

The pilot turned back to the instruments but realised immediately that there was no point: if they were going to survive he’d have to fly by instinct alone. The helicopter was spinning in an anticlockwise direction so he pushed the cyclic to the right to try to counteract it and pulled the collective up to full power. They were going to hit the ground, he was sure of that, so all he could do was try to lessen the impact.

Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of the other Black Hawk. It was hovering just outside the north-east corner of the compound. He yanked the cyclic, trying to push the spinning helicopter away to the west. If he collided with the other helicopter it would all be over.

‘Thirty feet!’ shouted the co-pilot.

They were still over the compound, spinning crazily. The perimeter wall was eighteen feet high.

‘Brace for impact!’ the pilot screamed, though he knew that no one would hear him over the noise of the engines.

He saw the house flash by and realised that he was too far away to hit it but he still had to worry about the wall. The power was on full and the turbines were screaming but the rotor blades just didn’t seem to be generating any lift.

‘Twenty feet!’

Below him was the wall and then they were over it, but as he struggled to stop the spinning there was the sound of tortured metal and the helicopter lurched to the left. The tail rotor had slammed into the wall and almost certainly disintegrated in the impact.

The pilot reacted instantly, thrusting the cyclic forward so that the Black Hawk would hit the ground nose first. If they hit side on the main rotor would slam into the ground and the resulting crash would destroy the rotor blades and send lethal shrapnel through the cabin. He saw the ground rushing up at him and then they hit, hard, the cockpit shattering and the harness biting into his shoulders with such force that his right collarbone snapped. He could hear panicked shouts from behind him and then everything went black.

‘Go left, left, left!’ shouted the co-pilot of Helo Two but the pilot was already pushing the cyclic to the left to get it away from Helo One. He was also pulling the collective up so that they gained height. He concentrated on the instrument panel, which meant that he lost sight of the other helicopter, but the way that it had been spinning left him in no doubt that it had crashed.

A Seal appeared behind him. ‘What’s happening?’ screamed the Seal but the pilot ignored him and concentrated on flying the helicopter. The crew chief grabbed the Seal’s arm and pushed him down to the floor, then pointed a warning finger at the man. While they were in the air the aircrew were in charge and the last thing they needed was soldiers in full combat gear moving about when they weren’t supposed to.

The Black Hawk gained altitude and the pilot put it into a hover outside the compound, then turned it round so that he could see what was happening to Helo One.

‘They’re piling out,’ said the co-pilot.

‘Any sign of fire?’ asked the pilot.

‘They look okay. The rear rotor is smashed and the tail’s broken but that’s it. The main rotor isn’t even damaged. They were lucky.’

‘If they were lucky they wouldn’t have crashed in the first place. You have control.’

The co-pilot gripped the cyclic and tested the rudders. ‘I have control,’ he said and he took over the flying while the pilot clicked on his mic so that he could speak to the Seal in command behind him. ‘Helo One is down,’ he said. ‘What do you want to do?’

Chief Petty Officer Guy Henderson cursed under his breath. He peered out of one of the side windows but couldn’t see the downed helicopter. ‘They okay?’

‘There’s no fire and they’re getting out. But they’re outside the compound.’

‘Can you patch me through to Seal Alpha?’

‘I can talk to the pilot and co-pilot but they look like they’re busy right now. It has to be your call, unless you want to talk to command centre.’

‘Negative that,’ said Henderson. His mind raced. In all the rehearsals they’d carried out in North Carolina and Afghanistan they hadn’t once considered that one of the helicopters would crash. There was no contingency plan for what had just happened and he knew that if the decision as to what to do next was left up to the top brass then the mission would probably be aborted. There were simply too many chiefs: the President was in ultimate control in the White House but he wasn’t a soldier, so it would be up to his military advisors to make the call. That meant taking the views of the command centres in CIA headquarters at Langley Virginia, the Navy Seals’ command centre in Afghanistan and the command centre in the American Embassy in Islamabad. By the time a consensus had been reached Pakistani jets would have been scrambled and be on their way.

‘Clock’s ticking,’ said the pilot. ‘You’re going to have to make a decision here. Do we continue or do we go into rescue mode?’

Henderson held up a gloved hand. By now Helo One should have been in position over the courtyard and the Seals dropping down on ropes before storming the house. Helo Two should have been dropping four of its Seals outside the compound to secure the perimeter and then Henderson and the rest of the team were to be dropped on to the roof of the main building to gain access from there. But that clearly wasn’t going to happen now. When the CIA had first been told who was living in the compound President Obama had considered demolishing the building using B2 stealth bombers, and then had discussed using armed drones with Hellfire missiles; but he had been advised that neither offered a cast-iron guarantee of success. The only way to be sure was to send in a team of Seals, which is when they had begun to plan Operation Neptune’s Spear. Two pilotless drones fitted with high-resolution infrared cameras were already three miles above the compound and sending back live visual feeds to the other side of the world, where the President and his staff were gathered in the White House’s situation room.

The fact that the President was watching made Henderson’s head spin but he forced himself to concentrate on his options. They could change the plan completely and all go to the roof, but the element of surprise had gone and the occupants might well start shooting. They could drop down into the compound and take the role of the Helo One strike team and storm the building through the front door, but they hadn’t rehearsed that and they’d be using only half the number of men they’d used in training.

Henderson jerked his thumb down. ‘Take her down, outside the compound,’ he said. ‘Let’s see what Adam says.’

Croft made sure that all his men were out safely, then he hurried over to the cockpit. The pilot was slumped forward but seemed to be breathing. The co-pilot had unbuckled his harness and taken off his helmet but was having trouble opening his door, which had buckled in the crash. Croft ran round to it, and using all his strength he managed to yank it open.

‘Is everyone okay?’ asked the co-pilot.

‘Shaken but nothing broken,’ said Croft. ‘What about the helo? Will she blow?’

The co-pilot shook his head. ‘All the electrics are off and the fuel tanks haven’t ruptured, so no, she won’t burn.’

The pilot groaned and the co-pilot and Croft opened the door, unbuckled his harness and helped him out. He was conscious but groggy and they sat him down next to a concrete wall. They’d landed in an animal compound, close to a feeding pen filled with grain. A small herd of scrawny cows had bolted when the helicopter crashed but were now standing a hundred feet away, watching what was going on, their tails swishing from side to side.

Croft looked across the street. The second Black Hawk was hovering a few feet above a field. It landed gently and the Seals on board piled out, bent double to keep their heads away from the spinning rotor blades.

The leader of the Helo Two Seals rushed over to Seal Alpha. ‘You okay, Adam?’

‘I’ve been better,’ said Croft.

‘Do we abort?’ asked Henderson.

‘Hell no,’ said Croft. ‘We’ve no injuries so all we’ve got to do is go through the main gate. But get your pilot to radio for a Chinook to get us out of here.’

‘Roger that,’ said Henderson, and he ran back to the Black Hawk.

The co-pilot gestured at the wrecked helicopter behind them. ‘We’re going to have to destroy the electronics and then burn the ship,’ he said.

‘Wait until we’re out,’ said Croft. He waved at his team. ‘Let’s get into the compound,’ he said. ‘The clock’s ticking.’ He jogged over to the compound wall and examined the gate. It was metal with wheels on the bottom so that it could be pushed to the side. He tried to move it, but it was obviously locked on the inside. He kicked it hard, several times, and it rattled but remained obstinately closed.

All the Seals from Helo Two had moved some distance away because the main rotor was still turning. Henderson leaned into the belly of Helo Two and briefed the crew chief.

When he’d finished talking a soldier holding a Heckler & Koch put a hand on his arm. ‘What’s happening, Guy?’

The soldier was English, the only non-American on the team, and although he was there as an observer he had been issued with a Glock pistol and Heckler & Koch MP5 carbine complete with suppressor.

‘We’re going ahead, but through the gate,’ said Henderson. ‘We can’t risk losing the second helo.’

The crew chief appeared at the Black Hawk’s side door. ‘Chinook’s on its way. ETA five-zero minutes.’

‘Roger that,’ said Henderson. He nodded at the Englishman. His name was Dan Shepherd and he worked for MI5, the British intelligence agency. It was MI5 who had provided much of the intelligence on the interior of the compound and they had insisted that they were represented on the mission. Shepherd had been chosen because he had a special forces background with the Special Air Service, the nearest thing the Brits had to the Seals. ‘I’ve got to talk to Adam, stick with me.’

Henderson jogged over to Croft with Shepherd following closely behind. Croft looked up as they reached him. ‘What’s the story?’ he asked.

‘Chinook’s on its way, ETA fifty minutes. What’s the plan, Adam?’

‘We breach the compound,’ said Croft. ‘Then in through the front door.’

‘What about my team?’

‘Four men to secure the perimeter; you and the rest follow me.’ He waved at a short, squat Seal who was standing looking at the downed helicopter. ‘Get the C4 out, Tommy,’ he said. ‘Blow this fucking gate in.’

Tommy was the leader of the unit’s three-man demolition team and they hurried over to the gate and started unpacking C4 charges from their backpacks.

‘You think it’s a good idea to take everyone in through the front?’ asked Shepherd.

‘We can’t risk crashing the second helo so rope drops are out,’ said Croft. They were all wearing night-vision goggles so it was impossible to read their faces, but it was clear from Croft’s tone that he wasn’t happy about having his orders questioned.

‘Let’s move, Dan,’ said Henderson, turning towards his team.

Shepherd stood where he was, staring at Croft. ‘I get that, but do you think it’s smart to send everyone in through the gate?’ he said. ‘They’ll know we’re coming and if they start shooting it’ll be a massacre.’

‘We can take fire,’ said Croft.

‘I hear you, but the smart thing to do would be to move in on two fronts.’

‘I only see the one gate, and we’re not using the helo. Now get out of my face and let me get to work.’

‘Come on, Dan …’ said Henderson, putting his hand on Shepherd’s shoulder. He tried to move Shepherd away from Croft but Shepherd wouldn’t budge.

‘You could send a team over the wall at the side,’ said Shepherd. ‘If you go through the main gate you only get to the first courtyard by the guest house. You still have to get into the courtyard where the main building is. That’s going to slow you down. But if you send men over the west wall they’ll drop straight into the main courtyard and they could move around the west side of the house. If you come under fire they could deal with it.’

Croft took out a small laminated map of the compound and realised that Shepherd was right. But he still didn’t appreciate having his orders questioned. ‘Last time I looked that wall’s eighteen feet high,’ said Croft.

‘There’s a stack of oil drums over there by the cowshed and we can pull down some of the planks of wood. That and the ropes from the helo should get us over.’

‘That would work, Adam,’ said Henderson.

The two Seals stared at each other, looking for all the world like two giant insects about to attack each other, then Croft nodded. ‘Let’s do it,’ he said. ‘Leave four men watching the perimeter but take the rest over the west wall. And stay in radio contact; we don’t want any surprises in there.’

‘Roger that,’ said Henderson. He nodded at Shepherd and the two men ran back to the Black Hawk.

Croft paced up and down outside the gate. The ground was rough red dirt that had turned to mud in recent rain and it sucked at his rubber-soled boots. Tommy and his team had finished attaching four charges the size of cigarette packs at the four corners of the gate.

‘Ready when you are,’ said Tommy, running wires from the charges to a safe distance. Croft crouched down on one knee and turned his head away. ‘Fire in the hole!’ shouted Tommy, and he blew the charges. The gate fell inwards and slammed into the muddy ground.

Croft led the way, his boots thudding over the gate. His men followed. There was an alleyway some twenty feet long with another locked metal gate at the end.

Croft pointed at Tommy, and then at the gate. Tommy nodded and went forward with his demolition team. As they fixed charges to the second gate, Croft looked at his watch. It had been seven minutes since the Black Hawk had crashed. According to their game plan they should have been inside the house already. As it was they were still outside the residential part of the compound and whoever was inside would know that they were under attack.

There were two explosions and the second gate was down. ‘We’re almost at the outer courtyard,’ Croft said into his radio mic.

‘Roger that,’ said Henderson. ‘We’re just about to go over the wall.’

Croft led his team over the second gate into a courtyard. There was a small building to the left. It was a guest house, used by a fifty-year-old man and his family. At the far end of the courtyard was another metal gate. Croft’s heart was pounding and sweat was dripping down his forehead. He wiped it away with the back of his left hand. He was finding it hard to visualise the layout of the compound. All the training had started with him doing a fast rope drop directly into the residential compound and then storming the building. Everything they’d done since the helicopter had crashed was totally new and unplanned. He reached into the top pocket of his tunic and pulled out the laminated map again. He stared at it, trying to get his bearings. According to the map, the third gate led to the inner courtyard and the house.

A three-man team headed by Seal Golf peeled off to secure the guest house as Croft waved at Tommy and pointed at the third gate. ‘Last one and then we’re in, Tommy.’

Tommy and his team rushed forward and started attaching C4 charges.

Henderson and Shepherd studied the platform that the Seals had built against the perimeter wall using oil barrels and planks taken from the animal compound. There were three barrels at the bottom with planks on top, then two more barrels on top of that. Standing on the top barrels they’d have to jump only a few feet before scrambling over the top.

‘They’re just about to access the inner compound so we need to go now,’ said Henderson.

‘I’ll go first,’ said Shepherd.

‘You’re here to observe,’ said Henderson.

Shepherd tied a rope round his waist. ‘It was my idea so it’s the least I can do,’ he said. He handed the other end of the rope to Henderson. ‘Just be gentle with me,’ he said. ‘Eighteen feet isn’t that big a drop but I don’t want to go breaking an ankle at this stage.’

Another Seal was also getting ready to go over the wall but Shepherd slung his MP5 on his back and beat him to it, clambering up on to the wooden planks and then carefully climbing on to one of the barrels. He reached up to the top of the wall, grabbed it with his gloved hands and dragged himself up with a grunt.

Henderson played the rope out between his fingers, keeping a careful eye on the Englishman as he straddled the wall and dropped down into the courtyard. Shepherd’s knees scraped against the concrete wall as Henderson lowered him down. As soon as Shepherd’s feet touched the ground he turned and reached for his MP5, checking that the immediate area was clear.

A small cat with a broken tail ran away but other than that the courtyard was deserted.

The Seal dropped down next to Shepherd, unhooked the rope from his waist and pulled it twice to let the man on the other side of the wall know that he was down. Shepherd did the same and the two ropes snaked back over the top.

The rest of the Seals came over the wall in pairs, with Henderson bringing up the rear.

‘We’re in the compound,’ Henderson said into his mic.

There was a burst of static then he heard Croft. ‘About to blow the third gate and then we’re in.’

Henderson motioned for his team to move forward.

‘Fire in the hole!’ shouted Tommy and the four charges attached to the third gate blew. The gate buckled but remained in place so Tommy and one of his team rushed forward and finished the job with two hard kicks.

The gate went down and the Seals stormed through into the inner courtyard.

A man appeared at a doorway, holding an AK-47. He was short, portly and bearded, wearing a long nightshirt. It was the courier, Croft realised, recognising him from the dozens of surveillance photographs they’d studied in North Carolina. Three red dots from the laser sights of the M4 carbines danced on the man’s chest then three shots rang out and the courier fell back, the AK-47 tumbling to the ground. There were screams from a woman and children inside the house as four Seals stormed in, stamping over the body in the hallway.

Croft looked round, checked that the rest of the Seals were ready, and pointed at the main house. ‘Here we go,’ he said. ‘Home stretch.’

As they approached the main house a heavyset man with a thick moustache appeared on the patio. Next to him was a middle-aged woman in a nightdress. The man was holding an AK-47 in one hand, and he was holding up his other hand as if telling the soldiers to stop where they were. The three-man unit to Croft’s left fired as one and three bullets slammed into the man’s chest. He slumped to the ground and almost immediately the woman’s face imploded as she was hit. Even with the suppressors the noise of the shots echoed off the courtyard walls as dull thuds.

Three small children ran out of the house screaming. The soldiers let them go, keeping their weapons trained on the entrance to the house.

Croft waved his men forward. ‘In we go,’ he said.

Henderson flinched at the sound of shots. ‘They’re taking fire,’ he said, ducking down into a crouch.

‘All suppressed M4s,’ said Shepherd. ‘And they weren’t from the house.’

They came round the corner just in time to see Croft and his men burst through the front door.

Shepherd looked up at the upper levels of the building. All the windows were in darkness. If the occupants had any intention of fighting back the best time would have been when the Seals moved into the compound. Then they’d have been firing from cover and with the advantage of the high ground. Now that the Seals were moving inside the advantage switched to the Americans. They were highly trained in close-quarter combat and the night-vision goggles gave them an extra edge.

Shepherd moved forward but Henderson held him back. ‘They go in first,’ said Henderson. ‘You’re an observer, remember?’

Seal Alpha moved through the hallway with his team, using their weapons to cover all the angles. They had spent hours practising clearing the mock-up house in Afghanistan, and the exercises had always included dealing with booby traps – tripwires, alarms and explosives. But the fact that there were children in the house suggested that it hadn’t been booby-trapped, which would make their life easier.

There was a metal cage around the staircase that led to the upper floors and the three-man demolition team hurried over to it and began attaching charges while the rest of the Seals cleared the ground floor. There were four rooms including a kitchen and a bathroom, a sitting room with an old-fashioned television and karaoke machine, a bedroom with single beds. The Seals were thorough, opening all the cupboards and overturning the mattresses.

When they were satisfied that the ground floor was clear they moved to the far end of the hallway while the demolition team finished attaching the explosive charges.

Shepherd walked up to the house with Henderson in tow. Behind them Henderson’s team fanned out, covering the upper floors of the house with their M4s. Shepherd stared down at the dead man and woman on the patio. Blood was still pooling around the woman’s chest as she lay face down on the tiles. ‘We’re shooting women now, are we?’ he asked.

Henderson gestured at the AK-47 by the dead man’s feet. ‘What do you call that?’

‘You’ve been around as long as I have, Guy,’ said Shepherd. ‘The only shots we’ve heard have been fired by suppressed M4s. No AK-47s have been fired.’

‘Maybe that’s because we got our defence in first.’

‘Yeah, well, that doesn’t explain the woman. When did Seals start killing women?’

‘We can’t take any chances – under those baggy clothes she’s wearing she could be rigged up with a suicide vest.’

‘It’s a nightdress,’ said Shepherd scornfully. ‘It’s well after midnight. They were in bed and they came out to see what was going on.’

‘With an AK-47?’

‘Guy, mate, you’re from Texas. I’m betting you’d have a gun in your hand if you heard noises in your garden late at night. We’ve just crashed a bloody helicopter in theirs.’

They heard two dull thuds from inside the house, small explosive charges. Shepherd looked across at Guy, wondering if he’d been right about the suicide vest.

Henderson read his mind and shook his head. ‘That’s C4. Our guys are blowing the staircase cage.’

Shepherd nodded. ‘Let’s go,’ he said, and he headed inside. Henderson hurried after him.

Croft pulled open the mangled mesh cage and led the charge up the stairs. As he got to the halfway point he saw a man peering round the corner at the top and he pulled the trigger of his M4, sending a bullet smashing into the wall inches away from the man’s ear.

The man jerked back. Croft had recognised him from the photographs they’d studied back in the States. It was Bin Laden’s twenty-three-year-old son. He’d been seen in the compound most mornings lifting weights and doing push-ups.

Croft ran up the stairs just in time to see the man reach the end of the hallway. He fired again as the man turned but his shot went wide. Croft cursed, then he flinched as a gun went off behind him, two shots in quick succession. Seal Bravo. Both shots hit the man in the chest, just above the heart, and he fell backwards, hit a wall and then slid down it, his eyes wide and staring as blood spurted from the two wounds. He was one of four adult males that the Americans knew were living in the compound. Now three of them were dead.

The Seals piled up the stairs and began clearing the rooms. There were four, including a foul-smelling bathroom. They found two women hiding under a double bed in one of the bedrooms and roughly patted them down for e