The three men reached the unused buildings on the outer reaches of the complex. This was the kind of combat environment in which they’d all trained, and all were comfortable covering angles and working corners as they moved up. To the right was the target vehicle in the car park, and Abbott watched as Ward peeled off towards it, hunkering down by it, and went to work setting the first of his explosives. As well as the main factory building, in which Doyle’s office was based, there were three other outbuildings: one that was once offices and administration, one that might once have been a workshop, and one that was probably a canteen. Right now, Abbott was by the canteen. He rose up slightly to peer through the window and saw what looked like a makeshift dormitory for kids. Evidently, they’d been gravitating here to sleep and rest and even though it was relatively early, there were – he counted – five kids in there now, two of whom were lying down probably asleep, two playing some kind of game with their hands, and one who sat with her back to the wall, staring vacantly into space.

‘Alpha One,’ said Brace in his ear, ‘I have a target on the move.’

Abbott’s first thought on hearing that was, At last. Given that McGregor had warned him about Doyle’s increased paranoia, pulling more and more men onto the site, he had been wondering why more of them weren’t visible.

‘Do you have eyes on me?’ he whispered back to Brace.

‘Affirmative. Target is approaching your twelve, other side of the building.’

Probably coming to check on the kids. Or for some other reason.

‘Alone?’

‘So far. Approaching your position.’

‘Do you have a clear shot?’

‘Better if you can take it.’

Abbott hand-signalled to Miller, identifying the threat. They both crabbed forward, lifting their weapons in the ready position. Abbott as point man peered quickly around the side of the building, establishing a visual on the approaching guard and confirming that he was alone. He withdrew, counting in his head.

At the same time, he saw something else – but something that didn’t require his immediate attention. His brain compartmentalising now, as he eased off the safety, slipped a gloved finger through the trigger guard.

‘Standby,’ said Brace in his ear, and Abbott slipped out of his position, onto one knee, tucking the FN-Scar into his shoulder and squinting through the scope, finding his target, doing all of it in a quarter of a second, squeezing the trigger, two shots in quick succession to the chest followed by a single shot to the head.

The target, spun around by the three shots, folded to the ground. Abbott dropped the rifle to its strap, moved quickly forward and dragged the body into the shadow of the canteen. Miller covered his every move with the precision of a perfectly synchronised dance partner.