Everything was sweet.

  The hangar door opened. Holroyd entered. Tony could tell from the look on his face that he had news. And that it wasn’t good.

  ‘What is it?’ he said.

  Holroyd looked over his shoulder. ‘I was right,’ he said.

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘I’ve got a mole at Spearpoint. He’s just the kid on reception. He’s never come up with anything till now. But he’s just confirmed that Spearpoint are in contact with Danny Black. They’ve given him the order to take you out.’

  Tony inclined his head. ‘Say again?’

  ‘They’ve given him the order to take you out.’

  But Tony had heard Holroyd very well, and he’d understood even more. The RMP man’s belief that Cole and Dexter had been picked off by Spearpoint was fanciful. A theory that fitted what he wanted to believe.

  But if Cornwall had genuinely issued a kill order on him, it could mean only one thing.

  They knew.

  About the bullion. About Target Blue and his family. About Cole and Dexter.

  Tony didn’t know how they knew. But they knew.

  ‘How certain are you?’

  ‘My man overheard the order being given.’ Holroyd gave him a grim smile. ‘Someone’s looking out for you, my friend.’ He glanced towards the heavens.

  Tony inhaled slowly. ‘You sure it was Black?’

  Holroyd nodded.

  Think fast, Tony told himself. Step carefully.

  He had to get out of camp. Into the desert where he could disappear and figure out his next move. But he was confined here. He needed Holroyd’s help to get out.

  ‘He’s in camp,’ he said.

  Holroyd blinked. ‘What?’

  ‘Black’s in camp.’

  ‘I saw him leave—’ Holroyd said.

  ‘He’s back. Cole . . . Dexter . . . If they were hits, they were sophisticated. I should have seen it before. They have Black’s fingerprints all over them.’

  For the first time since Tony had met him, Holroyd suddenly looked scared. ‘They’re giving him the chance to cover his tracks.’

  Tony nodded. ‘That means they want both of us out of the way. You as well as me. We need to get out of camp now. Trust me, I know Danny Black. I don’t like the guy, but he’s good. He’ll find us.’

  Holroyd looked sick. ‘Surely we’re safer here . . .’

  ‘Tell that to Dexter and Cole.’ He grabbed his M4. Slung it across his body. Double-checked his handgun. ‘Can you get us a vehicle?’

  Holroyd nodded. ‘I should tell McGuigan . . .’

  ‘Tell nobody. I can keep you safe out in the desert, but only if you do what I say. What vehicle do you have?’

  ‘A Land Rover.’

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘By the cookhouse.’

  ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Unless you want to hang around here for Black?’

  Holroyd shook his head. ‘I should tell McGuigan.’

  ‘Don’t be a fucking idiot. He’d stab you in the back as soon as look at you. We tell nobody. Move.’

  He allowed Holroyd to lead the way. They exited the hangar and crossed the base. Tony glanced towards the dog enclosure. Bright floodlights had been set up there and a number of vehicles were active in the area. Holroyd half walked, half ran towards the cookhouse. It took about four minutes to get there. The Land Rover – beige, its windscreen plastered with red dust and with a crack across the rear window – was parked up alongside two other military vehicles. Five ANA soldiers were milling around. They eyed Tony and Holroyd with overt hostility as Tony got behind the wheel and Holroyd took the passenger seat. Tony started the engine, reversed in a narrow turning circle and headed towards the exit barrier at the south of the camp. He drove calmly, looking straight ahead, with no outward indication of the fast and panicked calculations going on in his head.

  How did they know? Were they acting just on Danny Black’s word? Or did they have more?

  It took two minutes to reach the exit barrier. The Land Rover’s headlamps illuminated five armed guards standing in front of the barrier. The place was clearly on high alert. Tony came to a halt ten metres from their position.

  ‘I’ll talk to them,’ Holroyd said.

  Without waiting for a reply he exited the vehicle and strode up to the armed guards. From behind the wheel Tony watched the RMP man clearly at his most officious, pointing back towards the interior of the camp, then forcefully out into the desert. The ANA guys looked unsure, but after a full minute of ear-bashing from Holroyd they stepped aside. Holroyd returned to the vehicle as the exit barrier opened. ‘Get out of here,’ he said, ‘before they change their mind.’

  Tony hit the accelerator. The Land Rover sped out of camp, its headlamps piercing the thick darkness of the Helmand desert.

  They drove in silence, as the glow of Camp Shorabak faded in the rear-view mirror. Tony kept his speed low, his eyes on the road ahead, searching for inconsistencies that might indicate an IED. There was no sign of any other vehicle. After twenty minutes, he started looking to the side of the road. When they drew up alongside a deep ditch running parallel to it, he stopped.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Holroyd said. And when Tony didn’t immediately reply: ‘We need to find somewhere to bunk down for the night.’

  ‘Get out,’ Tony said.

  An outraged look crossed Holroyd’s face. He was about to say something, but Tony drew his handgun and Holroyd stayed silent.

  ‘Get out,’ Tony repeated, at half the volume.

  Holroyd felt for the door latch. Scrambled out of the vehicle.

  Tony got out too. ‘Stand by the ditch,’ he said.

  Holroyd was a frightened animal. His eyes were darting around as he looked deep into the desert, plainly wondering whether to run, but too scared to do even that.

  ‘What’s . . . what’s going on, Tony?’

  ‘Shut your fucking cake hole and do what I said. Don’t force me to make you.’

  Holroyd stepped around the Land Rover. He stood a metre from the ditch.

  ‘Closer,’ Tony said.

  ‘Wiseman—’

  ‘Closer!’

  Holroyd did as he was told. He was less than half a metre from the ditch now.

  ‘Face away from the car. Do it!’

  Holroyd turned.

  ‘Get on your knees. Like in church, hey?’ And because Tony knew he wouldn’t do it automatically, he kicked Holroyd in the back of his right kneecap so the RMP man sank to a kneeling position.

  He aimed his handgun at the back of Holroyd’s head.

  ‘Tony,’ Holroyd breathed. ‘You’re . . . you’re my guy!’

  ‘Don’t make me fucking laugh,’ Tony said.

  It crossed his mind to tell Holroyd everything. That he’d set Danny Black up. That he’d stolen and hidden a suitcase full of Taliban bullion. That he’d killed Cole and Dexter. That Holroyd had been backing the wrong horse all the time, and he still would be if Tony hadn’t suspected that Spearpoint and Hereford knew the truth. That Holroyd had been useful to him right up to the point that they’d breached the Shorabak perimeter, but his usefulness had now come to an end.

  But there was no point.

  He could smell piss. It was coming from Holroyd.

  ‘Please . . .’ the RMP man whispered. ‘Oh Lord . . . please . . .’

  Tony fired. The nine-millimetre round pierced the back of Holroyd’s skull with a small explosion of blood, bone and brain matter. Holroyd slumped forward, half in the ditch, half out. Tony holstered his weapon, then bent down, grabbed his victim’s ankles and hauled the body round so that it fell wholly into the ditch, out of sight from anyone passing.

  He spat on the corpse, then returned to the Land Rover. He sat behind the wheel for a minute, calculating his next move.

  Then he started the engine and drove off.

  CHAPTER 20

  The derelict village had clearly not been occupied for many years.

  Danny surveyed it from the road through his night sight. Distance: approximately 750 metres. Craggy, mountainous hills formed a backdrop to the former habitation, half-obscuring a bright moon. In the magnified green haze, he saw the remnants of bomb-blasted buildings, and vast piles of rubble. There were no trees or other greenery – they were several klicks from the Helmand River or any of its tributaries. There was no movement. No vehicles. No overt sign of human habitation.

  But that didn’t mean there was nobody there. If the Regiment team from Kabul were in situ, Danny would fully expect them to be invisible.

  He would also expect them to be watching.

  ‘Give the sign,’ he told Caitlin.

  Caitlin was standing next to him. She held her torch above her right shoulder, facing the derelict village. On Danny’s instruction, she gave five short pulses of light. Danny panned the night sight left and right, searching the rubble for signals.

  ‘Go again,’ he told Caitlin.

  Caitlin repeated the signal. Danny panned left to right. Nothing.

  Until . . .

  Something had caught his attention. He panned quickly left in time to see a distant light source – faint and green in the NV – mirroring their call.

  He lowered his night sight. ‘They’re here,’ he said.

  Danny and Caitlin entered their vehicle – Caitlin behind the wheel – and pulled off the main road towards the derelict village. They drove slowly and with their headlamps illuminated. Making a covert approach on an SAS position would have been unwise.

  Danny’s shoulder was bad. It sent a sinister ache down his arm and across his torso. He swallowed more painkillers as Caitlin drove. She glanced at him. ‘The guys will be able to see to that.’

  Danny ignored her. ‘When you get back to Panjika, get your team ready to extract. My money’s on Spearpoint pulling you out within twenty-four hours.’

  She nodded. ‘What about you?’ she said.

  Danny didn’t reply. He could guess what his next order would be. He hoped he was wrong.

  ‘Stop here,’ he said.

  They were thirty metres from the remnants of an old mud and straw wall. Beyond it was a dilapidated maze of former compounds, potholed streets and general debris.

  ‘Kill the engine,’ Danny said. ‘Get out of the vehicle. No weapons. Hands visible.’

  Caitlin was clearly reluctant, but she did as Danny said. They stood in front of the Land Rover and waited.

  A minute passed.

  Two.

  The movement, when Danny noticed it, was directly ahead of them. Two figures emerged from the darkness fifty metres away. They walked a couple of metres apart and Danny could soon make out that they were armed. He looked down and noticed a dancing red dot on his chest. Caitlin had one too.

  ‘I’m really hoping these are your good-time boys,’ she muttered.

  Danny knew they were, because he was still alive.

  At a distance of fifteen metres, Danny could clearly see their military camo, their SF helmets and their rifles spray-painted in khaki. They were both bearded, and had their rifles engaged as they walked. At ten metres they stopped. Remained still for several seconds.

  ‘Danny,’ called a voice. ‘How many times do I have to pick you up out of the shit?’

  Danny narrowed his eyes. ‘Brooker?’

  The two men lowered their weapons. The guy on the left stepped forward. Now that his weapon was lowered, Danny recognised Ben Brooker’s face: half British, half Nepalese and as tough as flint. He’d been called in to provide operational support for Danny on a previous mission and had shown his worth.

  The two SAS men walked towards Danny and Caitlin. ‘You know Jock Riley from D Squadron,’ Brooker said, indicating his companion.

  ‘Good to see you,’ Danny said.

  ‘Thanks for getting us pulled out of Kabul,’ Riley said. ‘What a dump.’ He looked enquiringly at Caitlin.

  ‘Caitlin Wallace,’ Danny said. ‘She’s not staying.’

  ‘I hear you’ve been crossing swords with your old mucker Tony Wiseman,’ Brooker said. Sometimes, when Brooker spoke, his Nepalese ethnicity crept into his accent. Danny momentarily failed to understand the word ‘mucker’. But then he did, and he knew there was no point denying it.

  ‘You heard right,’ he said.

  ‘Hereford filled us in. Spearpoint, the kill team, everything that’s happened. You’ll be pleased to know Tony and the others fucked-up pretty bad.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Your kill team had GPS trackers in their radio sets. Their story was that they headed north from the village of Gareshk to follow their target. But that’s not what they were doing. They were heading north to—’

  ‘To cache the bullion,’ Danny said.

  ‘Right. Spearpoint would have no reason to suspect anything out of the ordinary. But when you found out what was really happening—’

  ‘Where’s the cache?’ Danny asked.

  Brooker nodded at Riley, who took a map from his camo jacket. They walked over to the Hilux and spread it out on the bonnet.

  ‘We’re here,’ Riley said, indicating an area about twenty klicks to the west of the Helmand River. ‘Gareshk is here, Panjika here, Shorabak here.’ He pointed north in the direction of the craggy mountain face that loomed over the derelict village. ‘These peaks follow this line.’ He indicated a region of dense east-west contour lines. ‘According to Spearpoint’s records, after the kill team left you, they headed north from Gareshk for approximately an hour and ended up here.’ His finger followed the contour lines west, stopping at a point approximately thirty clicks north-west of their current location. ‘They stayed here for forty-five minutes, then headed back towards Shorabak.’

  Forty-five minutes. Time enough to dig a cache and secrete the bullion.

  ‘What are our orders?’ Danny asked.

  ‘We’re still waiting on Spearpoint,’ Brooker said. He glanced at Caitlin as he spoke, but Danny didn’t think she noticed.

  ‘Well,’ Caitlin said. ‘My orders are to bug out of here. You gentlemen enjoy yourself. I’m heading back to Panjika.’

  Danny nodded. ‘Roger that.’ And before Caitlin climbed back into the Hilux, he called to her. ‘Hey, Caitlin?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Go carefully.’

  She winked at him. ‘I always go carefully, Danny Black,’ she said. ‘Look after him, fellas. He’s got a bullet wound on his left shoulder, looks and stinks like a ripe cheese.’

  ‘You got it,’ Brooker said.

  Caitlin climbed behind the wheel, turned the engine over and reversed. Seconds later, she was heading back towards the empty main road, the rear lights of the Hilux disappearing into the distance. Danny felt her absence immediately. He tried not to let it show. When he turned back to Brooker and Riley, he saw that they were exchanging a look.

  ‘What?’ he said.

  ‘Nothing,’ Brooker said. ‘We just need to get off the road is all.’

  ‘Where are the rest of your guys?’

  ‘There’s the shell of an old compound a hundred metres up here,’ Riley said. ‘Gives us eyes on the surrounding area.’ He spat on the ground. ‘Jesus, I’ve seen some shitholes, but this one takes the cake.’

  ‘You sure it’s deserted?’

  ‘We sent a nano-drone up with a thermal camera. Nothing. Even the animals stay clear of this place. Come on, let’s get you some scran and water.’

  None of the three men spoke as they entered the village. Despite Riley’s promise that it was deserted, Danny was silently alert to his surroundings. This was a ghost town. Chunks of shrapnel were embedded in the ground and the whole area was pockmarked with ordnance craters. But it also showed the signs of a previous life. Burned-out car chassis. Old tyres on the ground. Sheets of corrugated iron that might once have been the roofs of the devastated buildings all around. Against the wall of the compound to which Brooker and Riley led them was a child’s doll, its hair burned and one of its eyes missing. Danny found himself thinking about his own kid, back home. He quickly put that thought from his mind. It had no place there. Not right now.

  He could see why the guys had chosen this shell of a compound. The walls were largely intact, but occasional cracks provided a vista on all four sides. Their two vehicles – sand-coloured Land Rovers – were inside the enclosure, parked facing a section of wall on the north-eastern corner that had been fully destroyed, offering an exit. There were two other guys in the unit. They were each positioned with their rifles poking through cracks in the southern wall, facing the direction from which Danny and the others had approached. Only when Brooker gave them the word did they stand down and greet Danny. Kit Hargreaves and Murray Jackson were bearded, broad-shouldered, silent, but not displeased to have been pulled out of Kabul to join him in the badlands of the south.

  With Kit and Murray back on guard duty, Brooker threw Danny a packet of chocolate and a canteen of fresh water. ‘I didn’t tell you everything back there,’ he said. ‘Not in front of the chick.’ The slang sounded slightly peculiar in his half-Nepalese accent.

  Danny took a long draught of water and felt it soaking through his body. ‘Go on,’ he said.

  ‘It’s about Tony Wiseman and his team.’

  ‘Or what’s left of it.’ He raised the canteen again for another pull.

  ‘Nothing’s left of it. There was an IED in Shorabak. Dexter bought it.’

  Danny lowered the canteen. ‘Tell me Tony’s still in camp,’ he said quietly.

  Brooker shook his head. ‘He was reported missing about an hour ago. Along with some RMP guy, name of Holroyd.’

  Danny swore under his breath.

  ‘You know him?’

  ‘He had me under armed guard in Shorabak.’

  ‘Then let’s keep you under his radar.’

  ‘No,’ Danny said. He pointed towards one of the vehicles. ‘Give me a set of keys,’ he said.

  Brooker shook his head.