Kuznetsov had Hughes up against the ropes and was hitting him hard and fast to the ribs. Hughes was grunting but taking the punishment as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Then he bobbed left and hit the Russian with a devastating right uppercut that rocked him back.

Murray’s transceiver buzzed on his hip and he put his hand up to his earpiece. ‘Captain Murray? This is Superintendent Enfield.’

‘Murray, receiving,’ said Murray. Enfield sounded as if he was under pressure.

‘Terrorists have driven ambulances into the stadium, we think with bombs. You need to deal with them. Now.’

Murray looked around. One of his men, Rick ‘Country’ Lane, was about fifty feet from him. He was facing the ring but glancing from side to side, very much on alert. Murray waved him over.

‘Islamic State terrorists, do you understand?’ said Enfield.

‘Understood,’ said Murray. Off to his right an ambulance was parked close to the main stand. The windscreen had shattered and the driver was slumped in his seat, his chest wet with blood.

Lane joined him. ‘What’s up, boss?’

‘Terrorist attack, ambulances,’ said Murray, still looking around. Off to his left, another ambulance was moving slowly. ‘With me,’ he shouted, and ran towards it, reaching for his gun.

Pashtana Abdul brought the ambulance to a halt. He was totally calm, he had long ago come to terms with the fact that he was destined to be a shahid and take his place in Heaven at Allah’s right hand. He smiled to himself. ‘Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raaji’oon,’ he whispered. To Allah we belong and to Him is our return.

He reached for the switch to activate the bomb and clicked it to the ‘on’ position. As he straightened up he felt all-powerful, knowing that all he had to do was to press the trigger in his hand and he would join Allah in Heaven. He opened his mouth to say, ‘Allahu akbar,’ but the words froze in his throat when he saw the two men pointing guns at him. Kafirs, infidels, were glaring at him with undisguised hatred. He didn’t understand what they were shouting, the words meant nothing to him, but he knew what they wanted. They wanted him to surrender, to give up his mission, to become a coward and not a shahid, but that wasn’t going to happen. He tightened his grip on the trigger but then the window exploded in a hail of bullets and he died instantly.

Willoughby-Brown and Shepherd walked out of the tower block. Willoughby-Brown’s driver was standing by his van, fiddling with his smartphone. He waved at Willoughby-Brown when he saw him, put the phone away and climbed into the vehicle.

‘That went better than I thought it would,’ said Willoughby-Brown.

‘It was a disaster,’ said Shepherd. ‘Two men died when the helicopter went down, and the sniper hit how many? Five? Six?’