I moved fast. One foot up on the door handle, hauling myself up on to the top of the tallboy. As the door flung open and their searchlights cut through the gloom of the bedroom, the corridor echoed with the pop-pop-pop of exploding Martini–Henry rounds. The lead Guard had stepped across the threshold and pulled the pin on a stun grenade but hesitated as the cartridges behind banged and whistled. His comrade turned fully, Heckler & Koch in his shoulder, firing into the smoke.

Blink and you miss.

I came down hard, boots into the leader’s back. He sprawled beneath me, the stun grenade fell free. I recovered in time to shield my ears and eyes. The metal cylinder bounced off the skirting board and exploded in a blinding white flash. I reeled from the blast – eardrums singing. The fallen Guard stayed on the floor – down, but not dead. I turned to face the second Guard. The barrel of his Heckler & Koch caught on the door jamb. Elbow in. Right shoulder low. I struck below his left ear, clear of the helmet. My knuckle hit home. He staggered. Alternating strikes. Weapon dropped, hanging from its sling. He lurched backwards, recovered, and then lunged, both arms up. I blocked from the inside, arms crossed and then opening in front of him. Straight kick to the left knee, pushing forward, my leg between his. His right arm in my left hand. My right hand pushed across his face, grabbing his respirator. Pivot. My weight down, right knee on his chest, his head immobilized. Short punch below the left ear. I reached behind him and tore a set of flexicuffs free from his webbing. One hand tied, then the other, immobilized behind his back.

Torchlight and orders barked from below. I rolled him over and took two canisters from the front of his battledress. One stun. One CS. No frag. Over the stairs they went.

Bang. Pop. Hiss.

I dragged him into the room, pursued by the assault team who’d made it on to the landing. The old oak door would stop a few dozen rounds of 5.56 – but they wouldn’t risk hitting their own men. I pulled the tallboy down in front of it and breathed out hard. The room was illuminated with a single beam of light from the fallen leader’s rifle LED. I unhooked the tactical sling from his shoulder and gave him the once-over. He was out for the count but still breathing. His trussed-up companion thrashed around on the floor.

‘Téigh in ainm an diabhail!’ he swore at me.

Fair enough. Fucking off with the Devil was pretty much what I had in mind, anyway. I pointed the recovered Heckler & Koch at him.