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‘FOLLOWING AN INTELLIGENCE BREAKTHROUGH WHICH SUGGESTS THAT Martyn is being held in a mosque, the colonel has decided that every mosque within a one-hundred-kilometre range of this base is to be cleared and searched tomorrow morning,’ announced the boss.‘So what will we do after lunch?’ asked Jamie Dermott.Gordon Weeks said: ‘It is important to clear as many mosques simultaneously as possible and clearly this base doesn’t have the manpower. So troops from other bases will be taking part and other companies are being flown in to help.’‘How many are we doing?’ asked Angus.‘There are three mosques in the town by the base and each platoon will clear one. You will, of course, behave respectfully and politely. To you it may feel like any building to be searched: to a Moslem a mosque is a very holy place.’Dave involuntarily glanced at Mal. He was staring at the ground, his face red.‘Don’t they have to leave their shoes outside? Well, I’m not taking my fucking boots off,’ said Angus.‘You can keep your boots on,’ said Dave, rolling his eyes.The boss continued: ‘There is to be no shouting or swearing in the mosque. And, although we will have to enter with our weapons, we must avoid firing them unnecessarily. It’s a green entry so strictly, strictly no grenades. Plus total respect for any religious objects like the Quran, please.’‘On training they told us that the Taliban store weapons in mosques,’ said Bacon. ‘Where’s their respect, then?’‘They not only store weapons but they frequently fire from mosques. But that’s no reason for us to do the same.’‘So how can Martyn Robertson be held in a mosque if it’s a public place?’ asked O’Sullivan.‘Good question. Either the Taliban has to ensure the silence of an entire community, which is possible. Or he’ll be kept in a cupboard, room or underground area around the mosque. In short, we don’t know.’‘Will there be many people inside? Saying prayers and things?’ asked Binman.‘The operation has been deliberately timed to avoid the five Moslem prayer times. But there may well be people inside the mosque and we will have to indicate to them, very politely, that they should step aside while we search the place.’‘Right, lads,’ said Dave. ‘We’ll show you a map of the town and the mosque so you all know what you’re doing. Concentrate. Stay alert. Use your eyes and your heads. We’re undermanned, we all need each other and we’re doing a vital job tomorrow. We’re going to try to find Martyn alive. I don’t have to tell you what happens to him if we fuck up.’As they approached the town the next day they saw with relief that the place was busy. It was market day. The narrow streets throbbed with people, cattle and goats. The smell of sewage met the smell of spice. Women, their faces covered, their bags bulging, stepped around steaming animal dung. Stalls groaned beneath the weight of their produce, sellers shouted for buyers, bright fabrics were draped psychedelically on top of one another.To the soldiers the bustle could only mean one thing: no Taliban.1 Platoon split from the rest of the convoy to go around the outskirts of the town. The men would be dropped at a point nearest their allocated mosque and had been told to make their way towards it rapidly.Everything went according to plan at first. No one tried to stop them and the locals ignored the presence of armed soldiers in their midst.‘So . . . er . . . where is the mosque?’ asked Mal, who was point man.‘What do you mean?’ demanded Sol.‘Well, according to the map, it’s here,’ said the boss.‘Where?’They were lingering in a side alley now. Dave, at the rear, said: ‘Get moving, we’re supposed to take the place by surprise.’‘Get moving where?’ asked Mal. ‘I don’t see a mosque.’Everyone looked around them.‘Shit, shit, shit,’ said Dave. ‘They could have Martyn gagged, bound and out by now. Half the town knows we’re here.’‘Can’t we ask the way to the mosque?’ suggested Bacon.‘How’s your Pashtu then, Streaky?’ Finn said.The boss, staring at the map, shook his head: ‘I don’t understand. This is supposed to be the right place . . .’‘What’s the problem? This is the fucking mosque, look!’ Binman was pointing to a tannoy above the door of the low, squat building on their right.Mal took a step back to stare at it.‘That’s never a mosque! In England mosques don’t look like this. No one would go if they did.’‘It’s just an ordinary house . . .’ said Finn.Sol said: ‘Ordinary houses don’t have loudspeakers to call people to prayer. In you go, Mal.’‘No minaret, no arches, nothing written on the outside, nothing,’ muttered Mal mutinously. ‘How was I to know?’‘In you go, mate,’ said Sol.Mal paused.‘Go on!’ roared Dave from the back.Angus finally pushed in front of him and the others followed.Dave asked Mal, ‘What’s the problem?’‘I haven’t washed my hands and face.’‘What?’‘I didn’t think I cared. But we’re supposed to wash before praying. I don’t usually go in a mosque without . . .’‘Listen, mate,’ said Dave, ‘you can stay outside with 2 Section if you like. I’m sorry, I should have thought.’‘Fuck that,’ said Mal, and he stepped into the mosque.Inside it was almost dark. After a few moments their eyes began to adjust. As the interior materialized they quickly spread out. There were just a few men, kneeling on the mats provided, who looked up in shock at them. Light filtered in through small, high windows. There were arches overhead and at the back some cupboards and a couple of rooms. Without saying a word, the soldiers quickly and quietly searched the place.An old man came up to remonstrate. He was holding a book, bound in threadbare fabric which looked very old. Angus did not see the man and, after searching a cupboard, swung round to find him there. As he turned, his day sack knocked the book out of the man’s hand. It lay sprawling, face up, on the matting. The man stared at the book as though it was alight, and then he looked into Angus’s face and shouted in Pashtu.‘Really, McCall. Can’t you be a bit more careful?’ snapped the boss.Angus turned red and looked at the old man with embarrassment. ‘Sorry, mate, it was a mistake,’ he said.The man continued to shout.‘He’s saying: you big, clumsy twat,’ said Binman as he passed.‘Sounds like my dad,’ muttered Angus.He bent to pick up the book but the man shouted louder.Angus paused, unsure what to do.Mal was watching.‘He’s saying get your filthy, infidel hands off the Holy Book.’Angus stood up again and the man picked up the book himself with the greatest reverence and started to dust it down, apparently apologizing to it.‘I’ve fucking had enough of this,’ said Angus. He went to the door but bumped into a man carrying a sack on his way in. The man stopped and stared at Angus in horror.‘Christ, everyone’s looking at me like I’m fucking Dracula today!’The man put down the sack and backed out of the door.‘It’s yer fangs,’ said Finn.Angus stepped out after the man to where the other two sections of the platoon were covering. The man stared at the soldiers as though seeing them for the first time. He turned and ran.The soldiers were all outside the mosque now. Dave looked at Angus for an explanation.‘Saw me and scarpered,’ said Angus.‘We should have stopped him. I bet he didn’t just do that because you’re ugly.’But by now Finn was looking in the sack.‘Fucking hell!’The men crowded round.‘Opium?’‘Weed?’‘There are two . . . Well, they’re round and they look like . . .’He reached into the sack.‘Careful,’ said Dave. ‘Be very, very careful.’Finn pulled out a mortar round. The men instinctively backed away.Dave took the bag gingerly and pulled out the other round. It was partially wrapped in brown paper but it was clearly the twin of the first and attached to it were battery and wire.‘So that was going to be a roadside bomb for us,’ said Boss Weeks. ‘Nice of him to hand it over.’‘I wish you’d told us to stop that geezer,’ Dave said. ‘We’ll never catch him now.’Finn’s voice was higher than usual.‘I wish I wasn’t standing here holding this fucking thing.’‘We’ll put them down very, very gently . . .’‘What, here?’‘No!’ Sol pointed down the alleyway. ‘Over there where it’s a bit wider. It’ll be easier for us to cover.’Finn and Dave carried their bombs carefully, their tread slow, their bodies stiff. The boss walked ahead.‘No, down here, it gets wider still.’Finn looked miserable.‘Well, why not walk all the way back to the fucking base with them and see if they blow up on the way?’‘Just ten more metres,’ coaxed Sol.They set the mortar rounds down in the dusty alleyway and the boss radioed for someone to deal with them.The men waited.‘Well, this is going to help us find Martyn, innit?’ they said. ‘Sitting here in a fucking alleyway.’After three hours EOD arrived to dismantle the mortars.‘They would have been enough to see off a lot of men,’ the bomb disposal expert said cheerfully. ‘Shame you let the bastard walk away.’Back at Sin City it emerged that today’s operation had annoyed the locals in some parts of the area. Troops had been in contact, others had been stoned by angry crowds. In a few mosques, caches of weapons had been found. But there was still no sign of Martyn.