Next he turned his attention to the blasting cap. He removed the nine-volt battery, slid the prongs underneath the ops vest and inserted them into the plastic explosive. He traced the wire to the trip switch under and along the dog’s body, resting the switch vertically but at a slight angle under the dog’s head. It was out of sight, but as soon as anyone moved the head, it would slip to a horizontal position.

  He breathed deeply and, with a steady hand, attached the battery to its terminal and tucked it under the head next to the switch.

  Tony retreated carefully. It was a hair trigger. The smallest of vibrations could detonate his IED. He shone his torch down at his body. Apart from his covered hands, there was only the faintest spatter of dog blood on his chest. Outside the kennel he killed the torch, removed the bloodied SOCO gloves, put them in the ziplock bag and pulled his clothes back on. He would wash himself when he could, but for now he showed no sign of being bloodied. He picked up the remains of the MRE, stashed it with the SOCO gloves inside the ziplock bag, and was heading for the exit of the enclosure in less than a minute.

  His instinct was to run. He suppressed that instinct as he moved through the darkness up towards the burn pit, which was smouldering as always by the northern perimeter. He had to remain the grey man. Unremarkable. Unnoticed. He threw the incriminating ziplock bag into the pit before returning, head down, towards the Portakabin. By the time he reached it, he had not come within fifty metres of anybody else in the camp. He slipped silently through the door.

  His arrival made Dexter stir. He muttered something in his half-sleep.

  ‘What’s that, buddy?’ Tony said.

  Dexter’s eyes opened. He looked left and right, as if momentarily disorientated. He sat up suddenly, then pulled a nauseous face. ‘I feel like shit,’ he said.

  ‘You look like it,’ Tony said. ‘You’ve been asleep all day. Anyone ever told you you snore like a bastard.’

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Seven-thirty.’

  ‘Have you dealt with Baron?’

  ‘You fucking joking?’ Tony said. ‘Without his daddy there?’

  Dexter got to his feet. He swayed slightly. He staggered over to his pack and rummaged inside, before pulling out a ziplock bag of dry dog food. ‘I’m going to feed him,’ he said.

  ‘We’ll have some scoff when you get back,’ Tony said. ‘Maybe see if we can put our hands on some grog . . .’

  But Dexter had already left.

  Tony stared at the closed door, his expression blank.

  It would take Dexter ten minutes to get to the dog enclosure. Another minute to find Baron. He looked at his watch: 19.31 hours.

  If anything went wrong, the spotlight would surely fall on one of the ANA soldiers.

  But nothing would go wrong. Tony had a feel for these things. All he had to do was wait.

  Five minutes passed.

  The door burst open. Holroyd stood there. He was red-faced. Out of breath. He looked round the Portakabin. ‘Where’s Dexter?’ he said.

  Tony hesitated. He instinctively wanted to lie, but he knew he couldn’t. If the device was discovered or failed to work, and it turned out that Tony had misdirected the RMP man, he’d be in the frame. ‘I think he went to deal with the dog.’

  ‘Has he made contact with Spearpoint?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You don’t need to know why. Just answer the question.’

  ‘He’s been asleep all day,’ Tony said.

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Because I’ve been in here with him.’ He paused. Maybe Holroyd had looked in on them at some point while Tony had been about his business. ‘Well, I stretched my legs a couple of times . . .’

  ‘I’ve had Spearpoint on the line,’ Holroyd said. ‘They want a private communication with him.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’

  ‘They’re going to try to turn him. Undue pressure. I need to make sure he’s on board.’

  ‘Oh, he’s on board, mate. You don’t need to worry about that.’

  ‘I’ll decide what I need to worry about.’ Holroyd clicked his fingers twice in Tony’s direction. ‘Come on.’

  Tony didn’t move. ‘He’ll be back any minute,’ he said quietly.

  ‘I need to speak to him now. You’re coming with me.’ Holroyd stepped out of the Portakabin.

  Tony checked his watch: 19.37 hours. He stood up very slowly. Moved to the exit. Outside, he saw that Holroyd was already striding in the direction of the dog enclosure.

  ‘Mate!’ he called. ‘Wait up.’ Holroyd stopped and looked back. Tony jogged very slowly towards him. ‘Seriously, buddy,’ Tony said. ‘Save yourself a trip. He’ll be back in ten minutes and the dog enclosure’s a shithole.’

  Holroyd didn’t answer. He continued to walk briskly. Tony kept to his side. ‘So I got some pretty evil atmospherics from those ANA boys who saw what Cole did,’ he said. Anything to distract Holroyd and slow him down.

  ‘Leave the ANA to me.’ The RMP man was half walking, half jogging.

  ‘Wouldn’t put it past them to try something, is all,’ Tony said.

  ‘Just keep your heads down. We’ll be out of here tomorrow.’

  Nineteen thirty-eight hours. Distance to the enclosure: 300 metres. Tony scanned through the darkness. He thought he could just see Dexter’s outline about 200 metres in front of them. He pointed to his right, across this deserted area of the base towards a brightly lit aircraft hangar about 250 metres away where several figures had congregated. ‘Is that him?’

  Holroyd stopped. Looked in the direction Tony was pointing. ‘Where?’

  ‘By the hangar.’

  Holroyd squinted. ‘What are you talking about? You can’t see that far.’

  ‘I just thought I saw him is all.’ Tony shrugged. ‘Maybe not.’

  Holroyd gave him a suspicious look. Tony knew he had to ease off with the lame distractions. ‘He’s probably feeding the dog now. We’ll run into him on his way back.’

  Holroyd nodded. When he started walking again, he was slightly less brisk.

  Distance: 200 metres.

  ‘When we see him, I’ll do the talking,’ Holroyd said.

  ‘Roger that.’

  Distance: 100 metres.

  Tony tried to pierce the darkness again. There was no sign of Dexter. Surely he was at the very least in the dog crate by now.

  Distance: 50 metres.

  They were getting dangerously close. It occurred to Tony that something was going wrong. Maybe he should abort. Shout out to Dexter. Make it look as if he was the guy who’d called his mate away from a potentially lethal situation.

  And share the bullion.

  They continued walking.

  Twenty-five metres.

  Ten.

  As they approached the high wire fence of the dog enclosure, Tony positioned himself directly behind Holroyd. Cover.

  ‘Don’t go in there, mate,’ he said.

  ‘Why not?’ Holroyd said.

  ‘The dog gets jumpy when it’s been cooped up. It’s used to me and Dexter. I don’t want him going for you.’

  Holroyd stopped. He was a metre from the entrance to the enclosure. He hesitated for a moment. Then he shouted. ‘Dexter! It’s Mike Holroyd! Are you—’

  The explosion, when it came, was bigger than Tony expected. An intense burst of orange light flashed from the entrance to the kennel on the far side of the enclosure. The noise, despite being contained by the kennel walls, was ear splitting. Tony and Holroyd both hit the ground instinctively, each man covering their heads. A couple of seconds later, a small shower of grit hit their backs. Tony stood up. Holroyd remained crouched.

  ‘Stay where you are,’ Tony hissed. ‘There may be a secondary device.’

  Holroyd nodded, clearly terrified. He was muttering something, and making the sign of the cross. Good luck with that, Tony thought as he entered the enclosure and, feigning a careful gait, approached the dog crate, and then the kennel.

  The kennel’s roof had collapsed inwards. Smoke was billowing from it. He was half aware of a siren approaching from the distance.

  He knew the IED had done its job. There was a stench of burning flesh and the heat from inside the kennel was intense even at a couple of metres from the entrance. He had a part to play, though. Steeling himself against the heat, he pushed on into the kennel.

  There were two burning bodies inside. The dog’s was gutted and excoriated. Gobbets of burning dog meat were dotted around the interior like candles. As for Dexter, his face had taken the worst of the blast. It was scorched and unrecognisable. His clothes were aflame and as Tony looked down on him he could see the full sleeve of tattoos on his arm melt into an indistinguishable mess of burned flesh. Tony grabbed his ankles and dragged him out of the kennel and into the dog crate. ‘Get a medic!’ he shouted. ‘Get a fucking medic now!’

  But Holroyd was shouting too. ‘Leave him! Get out of there! Now! It’s an order!’

  A vehicle with a siren and a flashing light was screaming towards them. Tony did as he was instructed, sprinting across the enclosure. When he reached Holroyd, the RMP man dragged him away by one arm. Tony let him do it. As the emergency vehicle pulled up by the entrance to the enclosure and three ANA guys emerged, shouting and bathed in flashing neon light, Holroyd grabbed him by both arms and spoke to him face to face. ‘This is not a coincidence,’ he said.

  His eyes bored into Tony.

  ‘First Cole,’ Holroyd said. ‘Then Dexter. This is not a coincidence.’

  ‘What are you saying?’ Tony asked. There was a dangerous edge to his voice. He glanced towards the ANA guys who were talking on radios and preparing to enter the enclosure. Could he take their vehicle? What would his next move be?

  ‘Spearpoint,’ Holroyd breathed.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Holroyd looked over his shoulder. ‘Don’t you see? It’s how they work. They know we’re going to blow them wide open. They want you, Dexter and Cole out of the way.’

  Tony narrowed his eyes. ‘Cole did himself in.’

  ‘Did you see him do it?’ Holroyd demanded. ‘Did you see it, with your own eyes? And Dexter gets taken out just a few hours later?’

  Tony stared at him. He almost smiled. He pointed towards the dog enclosure. ‘Mate,’ he said, ‘it was probably just one of those ANA cunts. I told you they were giving me the hate stares. The dog went for—’

  ‘Don’t be so naive. Look at what’s happening. It’s the easiest thing in the world to eliminate people on a military base in Helmand Province. Once we get back to the UK, they’ve got problems. Real problems.’ He prodded Tony on the chest. ‘You’re next, Tony. You’re next on their hit list. We need to get you somewhere safe. You need sanctuary.’

  Tony feigned a concerned expression. He looked around anxiously at the ANA guys who were investigating the dog enclosure. ‘You’d better let me tool up,’ he told Holroyd. ‘I can take care of myself, but I need my personal weapons.’

  If Holroyd had any doubts that this was a good move, he didn’t show it. ‘You got it,’ he said. ‘Stick with me.’

  Tony nodded. ‘I owe you one, buddy,’ he said. He shook Holroyd’s hand.

  ‘I told you,’ Holroyd said. ‘You’re my guy. Let’s get out of here.’

  He grabbed Tony by the arm again, and started moving back towards the centre of the camp. Tony allowed himself to be manoeuvred. Holroyd had got it all so wrong, but that suited Tony. He was entirely out of the frame.

  He jogged alongside the RMP man, and didn’t look back over his shoulder to watch the fallout of his hit.

  Cadogan took the call within a second of his phone ringing. ‘Who’s this?’

  ‘Hammond.’

  ‘Do please tell me Al-Zafawi’s still alive.’

  ‘We’ve got a bigger problem.’

  ‘Bigger than compromising Her Majesty’s Government’s entire diplomatic relationship with the Americans?’

  ‘Dexter’s dead.’

  Cadogan fell silent. He looked around the ops room and realised all eyes were on him. For the second time that evening he limped out, through the reception area where the young man with the beard covering his burned face watched him hurry past, and into the open air. He stood with his back to the base. A blue Passat was parked ten metres in front of him, facing the exit. He stared over it, towards the wooded area that surrounded the base. ‘How?’ he said.

  ‘Details are sketchy. We haven’t managed to speak to anybody directly at the camp. I’ve tried to contact Holroyd to see if he knows anything. I can’t get hold of him. But a report’s come in through the MOD. There was an IED. One fatality, a British dog handler. That’s Dexter.’

  A moment’s silence. ‘It was Wiseman?’ said Cadogan.

  ‘I think we have to make that assumption.’

  A pause.

  ‘I think you and I know that there is now only one option available to us,’ Cadogan said.

  Another silence.

  ‘You’re suggesting a blue on blue?’

  ‘I believe that’s the euphemism.’

  ‘You’re a ruthless bastard,’ Hammond said. ‘That floppy-haired, public school act of yours is a fucking good disguise.’

  ‘My dear chap,’ Cadogan said very quietly, ‘if you’ve a better suggestion, I’m all ears.’

  Hammond didn’t reply.

  ‘You’re a good egg, Ray. You want to look after your men, even the bad apples. I understand that. But if we don’t do this, it’s the end of Spearpoint and it could be the end of the SAS. If Tony testifies for Holroyd – I don’t see how we can survive that.’

  ‘Nor do I,’ Hammond said.

  ‘Well then?’

  ‘We have an SAS team on the ground,’ Hammond said with obvious reluctance. ‘Black’s hooking up with them now.’

  ‘Splendid.’ Cadogan stared into the middle distance. ‘So for the avoidance of doubt,’ he said, ‘and so we can be clear that there are no crossed wires: you’re agreeing that we give Danny Black and his team the order to hunt down and kill Tony Wiseman.’

  Silence.

  ‘Are we agreed?’ Cadogan said.

  ‘I’ll give the order,’ Hammond replied. The line went dead.

  Cadogan didn’t move at first. His bad leg ached. He needed to sit down, but he couldn’t face the ops room. He turned slowly. As he did, he caught a reflection in the wing mirror of the Passat. A bearded face in the open doorway to the base. Burned skin. Cadogan turned more quickly. The door clicked shut.

  His face hardened. He limped towards the door. Opened it. Approached the desk, where the young soldier with the disfigured face was sitting reading a paperback. The kid put the book down on the table as Cadogan limped up to him. ‘What did you hear?’

  The soldier blinked heavily. ‘Sir?’

  ‘Just now. What did you hear?’

  ‘Nothing, sir.’

  ‘You were at the door. I saw you.’

  ‘Closing it, sir. For security. And there was a draft.’

  ‘You’re not Spearpoint cleared?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘If you utter a word of anything you just heard me say, you’re going to prison. Do you understand that.’

  The young man looked chastened. ‘I didn’t hear anything, sir.’

  Cadogan stared at him. ‘Keep it that way, soldier,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ the young man said. He nodded earnestly. Cadogan turned his back on him and returned to the ops room.

  The young man’s name was Kenny Sterne. The burn on his face had been acquired in Iraq when the armoured vehicle in which he had been travelling to Basra had hit a roadside bomb. The word was that it had been installed by an American special-forces unit in an attempt to hit an insurgent’s vehicle. Their act of roadside sabotage had gone very wrong.

  Confined to a desk job, he had little option but to make the best of his remaining years in the army. But when a member of the Royal Military Police had approached him and asked for his help in curtailing the more excessive activities of the special forces, he was on board.

  When he’d been posted to Spearpoint, the RMP had been delighted. Less so when it turned out his actual understanding of what went on in the base was extremely limited.

  Now, though, he had some intel. Limited and fragmented, maybe. But intel all the same.

  He stepped outside and made the call.

  ‘McGuigan,’ said a distant-sounding voice at the other end.

  ‘It’s Kenny Sterne.’

  ‘What do you want, Kenny? We’re busy.’

  ‘Tell Holroyd I have something for him.’

  ‘He’s tied up at the moment. Give it to me.’

  Kenny hesitated.

  ‘Kenny, are you wasting our time?’

  ‘No, sir. It’s just—’

  ‘Just what?’

  Kenny licked his lips. ‘I overheard Cadogan,’ he said. ‘He just gave the order for Danny Black to kill Tony Wiseman. I don’t know if it means anything to you, or if it’s helpful . . .’

  Silence at the other end.

  ‘Hello . . .’

  ‘Get back to your post, Kenny,’ McGuigan said quietly. ‘Don’t mention this to anyone else. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Kenny said. ‘I understand.’

  The line went dead.

  Tony’s weapons had been kept in a small hangar that had been set aside for the use of Holroyd and McGuigan. The magazine had been removed from the M4, but his Sig remained loaded. He checked over the assault rifle – definitely his, as it had the little Tipp-Ex kill marks on the stock – fed the magazine into the body and made it safe. Tony had felt naked ever since the moment it had been taken away from him. He felt better now.

  Holroyd had been reluctant to leave him alone. Tony had managed to persuade him that an ANA guard at the hangar door was a bad idea.

  ‘I can take care of myself,’ he told him.

  ‘Do what you need to do.’ Holroyd had reluctantly left him alone for an hour now.

  Tony was pleased to be rid of the stupid fucker. Typical RMP, adding two and two to get five. Not that it mattered to Tony. He was going to come out of this smelling of roses. When it had all died down, he could return to the Stan and pick up the bullion. It was safe enough where it was, dug into a featureless hillside in the Helmand desert. Now Cole and Dexter were out of the way, he was the only one who could ever think of looking for it there, let alone be able to find it.