The dead guy was a young bloke in his mid-twenties but the butt of a pistol protruded from his track pants and Abbott felt nothing. No sympathy. No remorse. Just the sense of a job completed. The guy was just another kill. Another soul to meet on the other side. Abbott had shot first, that was all.

‘Sitrep?’ he said to Brace, taking up the rifle again and covering himself, sweeping the barrel around in quadrants, seeing just darkness – darkness and buildings, but nothing else, which meant that either the enemy presence had been drastically reduced since – when was the last recce? – that morning, or all of Doyle’s men were concentrated in . . . where?

The main factory building?

And if so, why?

‘No further activity,’ replied the sniper.

And then he got back to what it was he’d seen.

Parked cars. Two parked cars that weren’t supposed to be there. One that he’d spent far too much time in himself, McGregor’s BMW. And another, a black Audi TT that he was pretty sure belonged to Cynthia fucking Doyle.

Abbott pulled up his balaclava so as not to look scary and then tried the door to the canteen. It was unlocked. These kids were too terrified to even think of escape. Where would they go anyway? That’s what they would have been told. Try to escape and we’ll find you and punish you. The kids looked up as he entered, their eyes widening in fear. He held up I come in peace hands. ‘I’m here to help you. I’m here to take you away from these bad people,’ he told them.

They regarded him mutely. He was used to that. It’s what he’d expected. Experience had taught them not to trust men like him. ‘Do you speak English?’ he asked, and the little dark-haired girl who sat by herself nodded. ‘Can you translate for me?’ She nodded again, still with the same wary look but prepared to listen at least. ‘There will be some explosions, but you’ll be safe in here as long as you stay away from the windows. I’ll come back for you. How many others are there?’

‘Three,’ she said slowly, carefully.

‘Where are they?’

She shrugged. ‘Around. They’re around.’

‘OK,’ he said, ‘just stay away from the windows and I’ll be back.’

‘Charges are set.’

This from Ward. Brilliant, dependable Ward.

‘OK, Whiskey One stay back, ready to blow. Mike One, on me,’ said Abbott.

‘Where is everybody?’ This from Miller.