The mention of her name seemed to penetrate the fear clouding his mind. “Mysha?”

“Yes,” she said. She held out a hand. Every second made it less likely they would be able to leave in one piece. She had to fight the temptation to yank him upright.

He took her hand and got to his feet.

“Stay behind me,” she commanded.

This might get a little hot.

Michael Pope moved to the edge of the building and took a quick glimpse down onto the prison yard fifty yards below. He had watched as Rose and Faulkner had commenced their operation. It was an unsophisticated plan, reliant on the fear that would be wrought by an accurate sniper against a crowd of easy targets and then the shock of a frontal assault. A blunt cudgel of a plan, but as Faulkner had explained to him last night, there was no time to arrange anything more subtle.

It might have worked, too, for all its flaws.

Faulkner had taken a well-scouted firing position, and for a soldier with aim as good as his, hitting the guards from that kind of range was like shooting fish in a barrel. Pope had counted eight accurate shots before Faulkner’s position had been exposed.

Beatrix had cut through the confused guards with ease. She would have been able to escape again, too, if the prisoner she was so determined to release had not turned tail and disappeared back into the building again.

Now, though, Beatrix was in a very dangerous position.

Faulkner had abandoned his eyrie and was no longer able to provide covering fire. The surviving guards were beginning to pull themselves together. And the police reinforcements were well organised. They had sealed the breached entrance with two cars and then had fallen back into cover where they could safely concentrate their fire.

Pope heard the rumble of the big engine through the radio and then from the street below. He looked back over the edge of the roof at the big Manage Risk APC and watched grimly as it rolled up to the two police cars. It had its forward searchlights lit, powerful beams that traced blinding streaks through the gloom.

Shit.

Rose was trapped inside a prison.

A dangerous position? No, he corrected himself. It wasn’t dangerous.

It was hopeless.

Or it would have been hopeless.

Pope had followed Beatrix to Iraq. It was in direct contravention of Stone’s explicit orders, but he wanted to be on the ground. He had been a soldier for all of his adult life, and he had always known that he would find the transition to riding a desk difficult.

It had been impossible in this instance.