Chris Ryan - Who Dares Wins

Published by Century in 2009

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Copyright Chris Ryan 2009

Chris Ryan has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work

This novel is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the authors imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publishers prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser

First published in the United Kingdom in 2009 by

Century

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Everyone is like a moon, and has a dark side which he never shows to anybody.

Mark Twain

Also by Chris Ryan

To my agent Barbara Levy, editor Mark Booth, Charlotte Haycock, Charlotte Bush and the rest of the team at Century.

Iraq. 2003.

Baghdad had fallen.

The streets were filled with troops, panic and fear. Sam Redman could taste it. The newswires buzzed with scenes of jubilation, with images of the grotesque statue of a hated dictator being toppled by the newly liberated citizens. But that was only half the story. The cobras head might have been cut off, but its body was still flailing dangerously. There was talk of killing squads of former Iraqi Republican Guards tearing through the streets on white trucks, brandishing AK-47s and settling old scores. Earlier theyd come across a dismembered torso lying in an alleyway. The legs, arms and head were missing and the rest was covered in flies. A witness had seen the man, a Western security guard, get pinned down during an ambush. His captors showed no mercy. In full view of the street they forced him to the ground and hacked off his limbs with a machete. The witness told them that the captors had made a mess of it; the blade wasnt sharp enough and it took two men several minutes to hack through the bone and gristle. When they were down they peeled off his skin and beat his torso with his own limbs. Nearly an hour after they had captured him, the killing squad put a bullet through his forehead. One of the guys had filmed it on a camera; no doubt the footage was being uploaded on some dodgy Arabic website at that very minute. It was a sign of the way the country was headed: to hell in a fucking hand-cart. Only the presence of the Coalition forces held it still. If they were to leave now the city the whole country would be held to ransom by the looters, the rioters and the profiteers. By people like the man who sat in front of Sam now, sweat shining on his dark-skinned face and a nauseating stench of halitosis drifting from his gap-toothed mouth.

Miaat elf doolaar Amreekee, he said, before spitting on the floor and then setting his lips into an oily smile.

Sam turned to his brother. Jacobs command of Arabic was better than anyones in the Regiment. Hed been over the Iraqi border more times than he could count in the past few years and he knew how to play it with these people.

A thousand American dollars, he translated flatly.

Mac Howden, the third man in their unit, sneered. His left hand wandered up to his right ear, half of which was missing a scar from a firefight in Borneo. An inch to the left and it would have been a different story. I could do with a thousand Yankee dollars myself. Difference is, this greasy little fuckerll probably just go straight out and spend it on an RPG. Hell be taking potshots at Chinooks in two hours.

The Iraqi tout had said his name was Sadiq. None of them believed him, but in a situation like this one name was as good as another. Whether he knew that Sam, Jacob and Mac were SAS or what the SAS even was was anybodys guess. Beyond doubt, however, he knew the value of the information he carried. Sadiqs face remained fixed in that unpleasant smile as the three of them talked. Discuss it among yourselves, his expression said. Im in no hurry.

And anyway, Mac continued, rule of engagement number one: never trust a fucking raghead. How do we know hes telling the truth?

We dont, Sam growled. He didnt care about the money it wasnt like it was his but he cared deeply about this guy pulling a fast one on them.

Jacob sniffed and his eyes narrowed slightly. Sam knew his brother well enough to realise he was about to do something. But with Jacob, you could never quite tell what. His brother took a step towards the straight-backed chair where Sadiq was sitting. Theyd put him there, in the middle of this gloomy basement on the outskirts of Baghdad, so that he would feel intimidated while the three of them loomed over him. He didnt appear to be intimidated at all, however. As a beam of the morning sun shone on to his face through the air vent at the top of the outside wall the only source of light available to them he looked quite at ease. As if he had the upper hand.