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THE MEN WERE CLUSTERED AROUND THE TV IN THE COOKHOUSE. Martyn Robertson was the first news story. There was a shocked silence as the newsreader announced the ransom demand and execution threat.A grainy video was shown of Martyn looking miserable. He said he was being well treated and he read out a prepared text about the evils of imperialist powers in Afghanistan.The watching men searched the background for clues to Martyn’s whereabouts but behind him was only a mud wall that could be anywhere in Helmand Province, anywhere in Afghanistan. The report cut to politicians from both sides of the Atlantic talking about their determination to free the hostage without giving in to terrorist demands.‘That’s a load of crap,’ said Swift from 3 Section. ‘We should be driving around this area ripping the shit out of every Taliban bastard for miles around.’‘Can’t we just go through the whole town looking for him?’ asked Aaron Baker. ‘He’s probably in someone’s cupboard.’‘Why aren’t we doing something to find Martyn?’ people shouted.‘And what good are fucking diplomats?’ asked Mal.The OC was in the cookhouse with the men. He looked tired. ‘Secretary of State Clinton is making a surprise visit to Kabul. While she’s here, she’s going to talk to the Afghan President about Martyn.’His words were met by silence. Finally CSM Kila said: ‘With respect, sir, that’ll do fuck all to help.’Major Willingham was doleful.‘I know.’‘Can’t we find him? Can’t we go and fight with the fuckers?’ men said. ‘We’ve got to get to him before the bastards slice his head off.’But the OC held his hands up to indicate his helplessness in the world of politicians and diplomats.After dark, Asma escaped from the ops room to have a cigarette and join Gordon Weeks for a walk around the perimeter. Foreign Office staff, walking with their heads tilted back so they could see the amazing Afghan stars, kept bumping into them.‘They get paid danger money to come to an FOB,’ said Asma. ‘It’s a fortune. But the first sign of any incoming and they’re into the bunker and down on the ground.’Weeks stepped around a stumbling man in a smart suit and body armour.‘Their greatest risk is falling and breaking a leg while they stargaze.’She giggled.‘God it is so fucking good to get out of the ops room! It’s stuffy and smelly and horrible. And so are all the officers.’Weeks decided she had just paid him a compliment without even knowing it. Suddenly he felt happy. Happy to be with Asma, under a spectacular night sky, hearing her laugh.Without thinking he reached out and drew her to him. Their body armour bumped. He smelled the hint of perfume and the odour of cigarette. Her arms were bare and the softness of her skin excited him. Then his courage failed. He kissed her on the cheek and released her.‘What was that for?’ She was laughing at him.‘I don’t know what came over me,’ he said. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’She laughed again and then they walked on in silence.‘So,’ he began awkwardly. ‘Are you sitting there with your headphones on just listening all day?’‘Yup. Except when someone nicks me headphones.’‘Is it ever interesting?’‘It’s enough to make me take up fucking knitting. I mean, why do we look at the radio when we’re listening to it?’‘But are you getting anywhere?’‘Well, it’s frustrating. I knew Martyn and I feel this sense of urgency, especially now we’ve only got two weeks. But there are guys in there who are treating it like just another bloody day’s work. It’s more about politics than about finding him.’‘But do you hear anything on the radio that may lead us to him? The men all want to get out there and search.’‘Hmmm. Depends how you interpret what they say.’‘Because the Taliban speak in code?’‘Their codes aren’t very complicated. But they chatter a lot about nothing. So it’s hard to tell what’s crap and what matters. There was a lot of stuff about a holy place today so the colonel’s convinced they’re hiding him in a mosque.’‘Well, they might be.’‘Or they might just have been talking about mosques. Because Moslems do.’‘Any idea which mosque?’She laughed again.‘No. So if your blokes want something to do, they could search them all.’

Chapter Sixty-four