‘And take these men with you, too.’ Alatas nodded at the bedraggled guards outside. ‘Leave one with a radio to report on the water level in the cave.’

Clamping a paw on Nash’s shoulder, Boerman propelled him outside to a supply tent to collect the materials he had listed: timber, tools, synthetic cord, gaffer tape and a measure. Finding these under flashlight was not easy in the chaos of plastic crates, and Boerman grew increasingly irate at the Indonesians’ lack of organisation.

‘Call yourselves professional soldiers? It’s a fucking disgrace.’

At the rear of the tent was the weapons rack Nash had been hoping for. But the proximity of the guards made it impossible to investigate. Then Boerman came to his rescue.

‘Are you two going to just fucking stand there?’ he bellowed. ‘Membantu kita menemukan gaffer tape!’

As the guards began opening crates, Nash slipped to the back of the tent. His plan required a concealed weapon – a pistol or a knife with which to ambush these three en route to the cave. With the deafening thunder and the rain bucketing down, no one would hear the shots or screams. He could improve their odds and sneak back down here before dawn.

His heart soon sank. While three automatic rifles and a pump-action shotgun were perfect for their dawn attack, there was nothing remotely concealable here.

Nash glanced out at Sura’s illuminated command tent. What if he dropped Boerman and the guards fast . . . would that give him time to take out the leadership? Frank could then help take out converging guards in the chaos . . .

Nash ran a hand down the smooth barrel of the shotgun.

Pick it up and there’s no turning back. It might not even be loaded . . .

On the other hand, a better chance might not present itself. He was poised to commit himself when his fingers encountered the thin security cable running through the trigger guard. He’d almost blown it!

He was easing away when his foot encountered a low wooden box. With Boerman and the Indonesians still cursing among the crates, Nash reached in.

Jackpot!

Beneath his fingertips lay a cluster of heavy steel balls. Casually, he transferred a hand grenade to the deep pocket of his hiking pants.

He was reaching for a second when Boerman growled, ‘Come here, Nash.’

Heart in mouth, he approached, blinking in the light of the big man’s head torch. Then Boerman shoved a bag of materials and a three-metre length of timber into his arms.

‘Let’s go, genius.’