‘Zameer is coming. He will be here before sunrise, and then we will talk.’

  ‘I have been questioned enough,’ growled Hamid.

  ‘We will find clarity together.’ There was a finality in Nasir’s words that made Hamid’s gut tighten. He was suddenly aware that the armed men surrounding them looked not to him for authority, as they once had, but to his older brother.

  Hamid leaned in, lowering his voice. ‘What do you think I did, Nasir? You know me better than any man alive. Do you honestly think I would give anything to our most hated foes?’

  ‘It does not matter what I think,’ Nasir replied quietly. ‘It only matters what men believe.’ He stepped back and gestured to another of the riflemen to come and escort Hamid away. ‘Be patient, little brother,’ he said, loudly enough for the whole group to hear. ‘If you remained strong in the clutches of the enemy, then you have nothing to fear.’

  Fighting his way back through the pain, Alex made it to his feet. He fashioned a dressing around the stinging wound in his bicep before dragging the injured woman to the kerb to set her against a grassy bank.

  ‘Jake.’ The police officer pushed the name out. ‘Where . . . where’s Jake?’ She blinked, her gaze unfocused.

  Alex felt the colour drain from his face. He didn’t know how to tell her the grim truth.

  The other copper lay on his back a few metres away. Sprawled over the asphalt, he had been ruined by the execution-style shots the Russian had put through his skull.

  ‘Hard to breathe.’ She was panting like a cat, mouth open, the air coming in gulps.

  ‘Help’s on the way,’ he said. ‘I used your radio. An ambulance will be here soon, don’t worry.’

  Suspicion creased her expression. ‘How’d you do that?’

  ‘I’m Fire and Rescue,’ he said, tapping his chest. Part of Alex’s firefighter training included a working knowledge of Airwave radio systems, and while the fire brigade operated on different protocols to the cops, he’d been able to call in the location of the shooting and alert the policewoman’s colleagues. ‘What was your name again?’ he added, trying to engage her and keep her alert.

  ‘Isla. Grace.’ She stifled a painful cough. ‘Everyone calls me Gracey.’

  Alex squeezed her hand. ‘Gracey, I’m going to ask you for a favour.’

  ‘Oh?’ She turned her head slightly. ‘Is Jake here?’

  ‘I have to go,’ he told her. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t stay with you. You have to hold on for a bit on your own, all right, love?’

  A ripple of fear crossed the woman’s face. ‘Jake’s dead, isn’t he?’ She blinked back tears. ‘Did that bloke shoot him? He shot me.’

  Alex gave a slow nod, and his voice caught in his throat. ‘He took my son.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ He gestured in the direction the black BMW had gone. ‘East, away from the city. My boy, he’s all I’ve got.’

  ‘I get it.’ Grace nodded stiffly, clinging to consciousness. ‘You . . . you need the car. Keys still in . . . the ignition.’ She chuckled and it pained her to do it. ‘Can’t let you do that . . .’

  ‘You’re in no shape to stop me.’ He gave a pained smile.

  Grace grunted. ‘Arrest you for that, mate,’ she slurred, ‘if I wasn’t half-concussed.’

  On the breeze, Alex heard the distant whoop of an approaching siren, and he looked up. Blue lights strobed in the distance, off the bottom of the low clouds. ‘The ambulance is coming, Grace. Not long now. Just hold on. Will you do that for me?’

  ‘Yeah.’ The police officer’s head lolled forward. ‘Wait. Give you something.’ She fumbled at her waist and pulled a pistol-shaped device from a holster on her stab vest. ‘Here.’

  She pressed the thing into his hands. Made of bright yellow plastic, it looked like one of George’s toys. Alex had never held a taser before, but he’d seen enough movies and TV shows to guess at how it worked.

  ‘Get your kid,’ said Grace. ‘Give that Russian wanker a shot from me.’ Then she slumped against the bank, the effort of talking pushing her into unconsciousness.

  ‘OK,’ he agreed, stuffing the taser in his jacket. ‘I’m sorry.’ Alex gave the injured woman one last look, then limped as quickly as he could to the police car.

  Just as Grace had promised, the keys were in the Volvo’s ignition, the engine still idling. Alex snapped his seatbelt tab into the lock and jammed the vehicle into gear. With a hiss of rain-heavy tyres, the car lurched out of the lay-by and bit into the road.

  The vehicle revved as he put his foot down. It had a powerful engine under the bonnet and it was tempting to floor it. Alex’s fingers found the controls of the police car’s lights and sirens – the blues and twos as they were known – but he held back from firing them up. The vehicle was conspicuous enough, ice white in colour with a neon yellow and bright blue checkerboard livery down the flanks. Alex didn’t want to think of what Matvey would do to George if he spotted a pursuer.

  He put aside his guilt at leaving Grace alone in the drizzle and concentrated on the road ahead of him.

  ‘Think, man,’ Alex said aloud, guiding the car along the road down which the BMW had disappeared, searching the distance ahead for any sign of the fleeing vehicle. ‘Where would they go?’

  The men with rifles forced Kate along at gunpoint, and she did as best she could to help Breeze stagger over the crumbling flagstones and into the airport’s run-down buildings.

  They put the pair of them in a space that looked like it had once been a storage room. It had been stripped out at some point and populated with a few reeking old army surplus camp beds and, incongruously, the same kind of cheap plastic injection-moulded lawn furniture that Alex kept in the garden shed back home.

  Breeze let herself be planted on the least smelly of the beds and dragged herself up until she was propped against a wall. The guards grudgingly provided canteens of stale water and a cardboard box containing what turned out to be decades-old packets of army rations.

  ‘Red Army issue,’ said Kate, examining the Cyrillic script and Soviet-era crimson star on the packaging. ‘Pre-Gorbachev.’

  ‘Huh.’ She handed one to the American and Breeze scrutinised the writing. ‘More like pre-Brezhnev.’ With effort, she peeled off the wrapping with her teeth and sniffed at the contents. ‘Ugh. Stinks like bad feet. That’s enough to kill my appetite . . .’ Breeze trailed off. The effort of speaking was wearing her out.

  But the bad odour wasn’t just coming from the spoiled Russian rat-packs. Neither woman had said anything about it, but Breeze’s belly wound was giving off an unhealthy smell that did not bode well. Kate marched to the door and banged on the frame to attract the attention of the man outside. The door was heavy, a plate of steel with a thick bolt, and she realised that was why they had put them in this particular room.

  The metal door opened a crack and a wolfish face glared back at her. ‘We need a medical kit,’ said Kate, enunciating each word carefully. ‘You understand? Medicine. Bandages. For her.’ She pointed in Breeze’s direction.

  ‘No.’ The guard began to close the door, but Kate jammed her foot in the gap.

  ‘Yes,’ she insisted. ‘You want her to die? No medical kit, she dies. Your fault!’ Kate pointed at the man. ‘Hamid will be very angry with you!’

  Invoking Hamid’s name seemed to do the trick and, at length, the guard gave a sullen nod and backed away. ‘I get,’ he allowed.

  The door clicked shut with the rattle of a lock, and in the moment of silence that followed, Kate heard Breeze’s laboured breathing.

  ‘Girl,’ she managed, ‘you oughta run. Right this fuckin’ second, I mean. While he’s distracted. While Hamid and his brother are still figuring shit out.’

  Kate looked toward her. ‘What, and leave you behind?’

  ‘Yup.’ Breeze waved in the direction of a dirt-smeared window on the far side of the room. ‘You’re skinny, your ass might fit through there.’ She coughed wetly. ‘They taught you escape and evasion in the RAF, didn’t they? Time to use it.’

  ‘They’ll kill you,’ said Kate, finally letting out the dark thought.

  ‘That’s pretty much gonna happen no matter what.’ Breeze nodded to herself. ‘Always swore I wasn’t gonna tap out in some rat-infested hole. Just kept deluding myself I’d die peacefully in my sleep.’

  ‘Neither of us are dead yet,’ Kate said firmly.

  ‘Well, the night is young,’ sighed Breeze. ‘Sorry you and yours were dragged into this. This is my mess and now you got it on you.’

  ‘Alex is strong,’ Kate said, more to herself than to Breeze. ‘He’d never let anything happen to George.’

  ‘No doubt, no doubt.’ Breeze looked away.

  ‘You think they’re already dead, don’t you?’ Kate felt cold, the words coming from a dark and terrible place buried down deep.

  ‘These men put no value on life. Not theirs, not ours. They only see blood as something they can spill to prove a point.’

  Kate tried to find a reply but her voice caught in her throat. She was afraid that, if she spoke, all that would emerge would be a cry.

  Behind her, the guard opened the door to let Hamid enter. He had cleaned himself up, washing off the dirt and sweat, dressing in a new robe and sandals. He carried himself with wary poise, stalking into the room.

  ‘Well, look who it is,’ muttered Breeze.

  ‘You wanted this.’ He had a threadbare medical pack in his hand, and Hamid threw it at Kate like he was passing her a ball. She caught it awkwardly and returned a grimace. ‘For all the good it will do,’ he added.

  ‘Gimme.’ Breeze made grabbing motions at the air as Kate came over with the pack. Before she could stop her, the American snatched it from Kate’s grip and poured the contents out over the tiled floor. ‘C’mon, c’mon,’ said Breeze, pawing through the bandages and yellowing packets, ‘Momma wants her candy.’

  She found a disposable syringe loaded with a morphine-derivative solution and Breeze jabbed it into the meat of her thigh. She shuddered as the potent painkiller flooded her system, and Kate realised how much agony the woman had to be enduring.

  ‘Better?’

  Breeze nodded woodenly. ‘Better.’ As Kate started to gather what she needed to dress the American’s wounds with fresh bandages, Breeze turned to stare at Hamid.

  ‘She needs a doctor,’ said Kate.

  ‘She has you,’ he replied. ‘Make do.’

  Kate set to work on the dressings and Breeze made a spitting noise. ‘Don’t ask him for nothin’,’ she told her. ‘He has no juice any more. Knew it back there at the plane. Funny.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ said Kate.

  ‘Hamid.’ Breeze pointed at him, and as she did the guard at the door pushed it closed, slamming the bolt back with a decisive thud of noise. ‘I know a lame dog when I see it. Big bro reckons little bro might be broke.’ She gave a guttural snort of amusement.

  Confusion on his face, Hamid moved back to the door and banged on the steel panel, his voice rising to a shout. He bellowed the name of his brother, but the lock remained firmly shut.

  At length he swung round, and in his eyes Kate saw fury. For the first time, an echo of that faked terror he had shown as Yusuf. But real now, she thought.

  TWENTY TWO

  ‘Before we get started,’ said the man on the screen, ‘I want to establish a few details.’ He peered out of the monitor fitted to the inside of the mobile operations unit, as if it were a window he was looking through. His expression resembled that of a visitor to a particularly disappointing zoo enclosure. ‘Who am I talking to?’

  And we’re the animals in the cage. Marty Chester entertained that depressing thought, keeping his expression neutral, crossing his fingers that the man on the screen wouldn’t look his way.

  At his side, Knox removed his baseball cap and drew himself up. ‘Harlan Knox, sir. Ground Branch.’

  ‘Martin Chester, tech ops.’ He kept his gaze downturned.

  ‘Who currently has operational control at your location?’

  ‘I do,’ said Knox.

  The man nodded. Dark skinned and full-faced, he had small eyes and an unsmiling mouth, his hair trimmed like a politician’s, atop a grey suit, white shirt and a blood-red tie.

  ‘I’m not going to ask you if you know who I am,’ he went on, ‘because if you don’t know the answer to that question . . .’ he flashed a humourless smile, ‘you’d have to be morons. And I would really like to believe you are not.’

  Chester had to admit, he didn’t actually know the man’s name. But he didn’t need to. He knew his reputation, and that was more than enough.

  Red Tie was a figure from the rarefied heights of the upper floors back at Langley; one of those men who had no particular portfolio but a ton of power and the freedom to wield it with impunity. Up until tonight, Chester had tried very hard to carry on his career at the Central Intelligence Agency without ever drawing the attention of men like this one, but now that hope had gone away.

  ‘Dear Lord, why is it when I hear the name Lillian Breeze, I know I’m going to have to reach for my antacids?’ Red Tie did the smile again, and this time he added a brittle chuckle. ‘Well, gentlemen, she took enough rope to hang herself this time, don’t you agree?’ He paused, waiting for one of them to offer a supportive answer, but he didn’t get it.

  The man sat at one end of a conference table, and with terse flicks of his fingers, he paged through a file lying in front of him. ‘This is quite the mess you’ve delivered, Knox. My wife owns an elderly, incontinent Labradoodle that cleans up after itself better than you have.’ He closed the cover of the file with a slow, deliberate motion. ‘I would like to know how a simple rendition operation has turned into something so utterly and completely botched.’

  ‘Sir, there were a number of variables we couldn’t account for.’ Knox’s tone was straightforward. ‘The Brits had a penetration in their team. The enemy had a man inside the mission before we even got off the ground.’

  Chester glanced across at the window in the side of the SUV, catching sight of Miles, the British intelligence officer, standing alone on the far side of the hangar. He wondered what was going through the other man’s mind. He’s as screwed as we are.

  ‘That’s something I will have a less-than-cordial chat about with my MI6 counterpart after we’re done.’ Red Tie paused to chew his lower lip. ‘Believe me when I tell you, there’ll be copious amounts of blame to spread around on this one. But let’s try and salvage something from this comedy of errors, shall we?’

  Knox leaned forward. ‘We can sanitise this location and withdraw to a safe house on your order, sir.’

  Chester frowned at what the word sanitise might encompass but said nothing.

  Red Tie shook his head. ‘Oh, you’re not going anywhere. Movement draws attention and we really, really do not want that right now.’

  Knox shot Chester a sideways look. ‘Very well,’ he allowed.

  ‘This is what is going to happen.’ Red Tie drew himself up and signalled to someone out of range of the video pick-up. Another folder slid across the table to him and he studied the contents. ‘That call of yours to the Interpretation team, Chester? Good thought. It turns out the probable flight vector the jet was on before it went dark correlates with a known location of interest. We’ve had a disused airfield in that part of Algeria under satellite surveillance for some time, suspected as a possible al-Sakakin outpost. Training camp? Whatever.’ He shrugged. ‘We’ll have solid confirmation if the plane is there soon. But that’s not the good news. Would you like to know what is?’

  ‘Very much, yes.’ Chester answered without thinking.

  ‘We have PRISM signal captures from a phone associated with a known al-Sakakin driver. It’s coded but we got the gist of it . . .’ Red Tie’s smile flicked on and off again. ‘A senior faction member is en route to the airfield. A top man.’

  Kate finished up applying the new dressings to Breeze’s injuries as best she could. ‘That’s as good as it gets,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Appreciate it,’ said the American, with a breathy sigh. She chuckled to herself. ‘I see it now.’

  ‘See what?’

  Breeze shook her head. ‘Never shoulda been a combat pilot, Katie.’ She prodded the other woman with a thick finger. ‘You don’t have the killer instinct. You like people too much.’

  ‘Not all people.’ Kate looked away, finding Hamid where he stood by the locked door. The man’s arms were crossed over his chest, his expression was thunderous.

  He caught her eye and spared her a mordant glance. ‘You have something you wish to say? Spit it out.’

  ‘You never intended to keep your word, did you?’ Kate stood up, refusing to be cowed by the snarl in his tone. ‘To me, or anyone else.’

  ‘I made no bargain with you.’ Hamid cocked his head. ‘Why do infidels always assume there are rules we will follow? Rules that you set, that favour only you?’ His lips thinned. ‘You bombed civilians when you were in the RAF. Why should I do any different?’

  ‘I engaged military targets and enemy combatants.’ Kate glared at him. ‘I never targeted innocents!’

  ‘A lie you tell yourself,’ Hamid retorted. ‘None of you are blameless. Your nations, your governments, your legacy of colonisation and corruption. It tarnishes all of you. And so to end that dominion, it is necessary that there are no rules. No lines that cannot be crossed. Surely you understand that by now?’

  ‘Waste of time,’ said Breeze, ‘trying to debate this son of a bitch. Folks like us, we’re less than animals to him. Ain’t that so?’

  Hamid turned away, finding a camp bed where he could sit and ignore them.

  ‘I know these bastards,’ said Breeze. ‘See, I’ve been tracking them for years. Warned my bosses about them when Hamid here was getting up to speed, not that anyone would listen.’ She paused, struggling for a breath. ‘I told them. Said, “Watch out for his name, put a face to it, find him and run him down before it’s too late.” Didn’t listen to me. He’s gonna be the next Bin Laden, that’s what I said. No one wanted to hear it.’