‘Once we’ve finished logging in your weapons, you’ll fly up with me, so I can explain the salvage operation to you. Your men will then follow in the kapten’s gunship. We expect it to take a day or two at most.’

‘Log in our weapons?’

‘Sir Julius didn’t tell you? We have extremely strict firearms laws in Indonesia. Relax, Lieutenant, your weapons will be quite safe on board.’

Kaboro could feel Singkepe’s tension as well as his own. And when he didn’t respond, Sura irritably took out a satellite phone.

‘Very well, call Sir Julius. Explain to him how your sergeant managed to let a woman and a sick man escape into the jungle and jeopardise our mission.’

Slowly, Kaboro unclipped his Browning and deposited it on the deck.

‘Come on, men, let’s get it over with.’

Looking at the growing pile of old FN FAL rifles and M16s, Kaboro couldn’t help but contrast their firepower with that wielded by the Kopassus troops, who were carrying high-tech Brügger & Thomet MP9 machine pistols with 30-round transparent box magazines. A curious choice for Papua, he thought, where rain, mud and impacts took a heavy toll.

Singkepe was last to surrender his beloved machine gun, and the doubt was evident in his stooped shoulders. Again, Kaboro felt ashamed. Sergeant Singkepe was a real soldier.

‘Thank you,’ said Sura. ‘You’ve been most co-operative.’

Two things struck Kaboro simultaneously: one, his unarmed men were all lined up conveniently on the port side; and two, at some point the Kopassus men had levelled their machine pistols at their stomachs. He was about to raise the alarm when Sura jumped back.

The Kopassus men opened fire point-blank.

Rat tat tat tat tat tat . . .

Kaboro saw flashes and felt thunderous impacts before he even heard the rapid crackle. Stumbling back, he felt himself falling over the stanchion. The world turned upside down.

Thump!

Water closed over him, a final wet embrace. As the current took Kaboro, he felt only the bitter ache of remorse. He’d betrayed the men, and still he’d failed Toby.

The deck was awash with bodies leaking blood, and Sura had to step up on a ventilator to avoid it. Only one figure was still moving. Although riddled with 9 mm Parabellum rounds, the big NCO was doggedly trying to drag himself towards his abandoned weapon. Legs paralysed, he was propelling himself on his elbows, grunting with the effort.

‘Now what do we have here?’ Alatas drew his pistol with a laugh. ‘A rare black orang-utan. The forest is over there, monkey man!’

His men giggled. A nervy, jittery kind of hysteria. Sura recognised they were high on killing, excitement and revulsion filling them in equal measure.

‘Get on with it,’ she said. ‘We haven’t got time for games.’