Mike and Hamed were both face-down on the floor, wrists secured behind their backs with zip-ties. Long Hair and Barcelona were stood over them with automatic pistols drawn. Long Hair was speaking in rapid Arabic on the mobile again, his pistol covering the agents with his free hand. Tom’s mind flashed back to the earlier briefing given by Mike Brogan, the smiling and personable leader of the CIA pair.

‘We are hoping that Bashar Al-Ahmed is considering coming over to the good-guys. He’s a well-placed mid-ranker close to the Shia militia leader. His recruitment would be a coup, as I’m sure you can imagine.’ He had handed photographs around to the team.

Prone on the floor to the side of them was a straggly-haired Arabic man who Tom immediately recognised as Bashar Al-Ahmed. What he didn’t recognise from the photo was the dark red hole in the centre of the man’s forehead and the blood circling the floor around his head like a macabre halo.

Tom pulled the flash-bang from his pocket and, with his pistol still extended, pulled the pin out with his teeth. He opened the door an inch further and rolled the grenade into the room. Both men turned in the direction of the noise as Tom flattened himself against the wall, ready for the explosion. The one-second fuse delay seemed to go on for an age.

The report, when it came, was deafening, accompanied by a blinding white flash as the magnesium and ammonium nitrate combined. If the targets are not prepared for it, the combination can temporarily blind those within a few feet and cause serious disorientation. Tom rocketed in after the explosion, his Sig extended. He first encountered Barcelona who was flailing his arms, his gun pointing away from him. Tom responded with a quick double-tap into the man’s central body mass and Barcelona dropped like a stone. Tom immediately turned to Long Hair, who was bringing his weapon to bear unsteadily in his direction. Tom dived to the side as the man blindly loosed off a round, feeling the scorched air of the bullets trailing past his cheek. As he hit the floor, he turned in the direction of the insurgent and let off another double-tap, the first round hitting the man in his left shoulder and spinning him, the second hitting him smack in his right ear and blowing off the top of his head. The man collapsed like a puppet whose strings had just been cut.

The silence was suddenly deafening and overpowering.

The whole encounter had taken less than two minutes, but to Tom it felt like an hour had passed since he’d entered the building.

He pressed the transmitter and spoke calmly, feeling no panic, just strangely relaxed as he always felt in situations like this. His heartbeat remained only slightly elevated and his breathing was steady and even.