Tom replied with two tones.

‘Two tones, Roger. Wait. Out.’ The tinny voice of Damien, the boss at the control centre at Basra Palace was clear in his ear.

Tom sat with his tea, looking at the newspaper as if he was deep in thought while twirling his prayer beads, his eyes fixed on the green door across the street.

The tinny voice sparked up in his ear again.

‘Alpha One Foot, stand-by. Friendlies approaching venue. We understand the package is already in place,’ Damien said.

Tom replied with two tones.

‘Two tones. Roger. Stand-by,’ relayed Damien.

Tom’s senses were at their peak as he waited for the two CIA agents to arrive at the premises. He had not seen any obvious signs of surveillance on his journey from the palace to the café, nor were there any on the target premises opposite. He casually surveyed his fellow café-dwellers; if he’d been able to identify the café as the best vantage point for the rendezvous, then so could any hostiles. His brief survey didn’t reveal anyone of concern, the tables mostly occupied with small groups of elderly men all chatting amiably or playing dominoes.

A crackle erupted in his ear. ‘All units … package moving up towards target premises. With you in two minutes, Alpha One.’

Tom remained impassive, his eyes ostensibly on the newspaper, but peripherally covering the door. He was well-practised at being able to closely observe a target point without necessarily staring directly at it.

The operation had been sold to them as a simple counter-surveillance operation to watch the backs of the CIA agents, Mike and Hamed, as they met a potential asset in the apartment above the barber shop opposite. The powers-that-be wanted to make sure that the agents were not being followed ahead of the meeting, given that they were in a very dangerous part of Basra, with militia groups and criminal kidnap gangs active in the area. As the Special Reconnaissance Regiment (SRR) unit currently in Basra, Tom’s team was the best one for the job: hugely experienced in covert surveillance in hostile environments. The operation was meat-and-drink to them.

After a few moments he saw Mike and Hamed approaching the barber shop from their Subaru, which was parked about twenty metres away on Al Saadi Street. Mike was wearing a blue jacket and had a red and white shemagh round his neck, a dark baseball cap pulled low over his face, with sunglasses just peeking out from beneath. Hamed was dressed in chinos and a blue fleece to protect against the early evening chill, and also had a shemagh around his neck.

Tom could see no obvious watchers; the pair didn’t seem to be attracting any unusual attention. The plan was that they should be visible and in the open for the least possible time between exiting their vehicle and entering the premises.