‘Two suspects down, exfil, exfil! One of the players was on the phone and I think we can expect company.’

He reached down and cut Mike and Hamed’s zip-ties with his pocket knife.

‘You okay, guys?’

‘Holy fuck! Jesus fucking Christ, those bastards were going to fucking ice us!’ said Mike. His eyes flashed with fear and his usual warm and easy smile was replaced with panic and alarm as he twisted to look at Tom, breathing heavily.

‘It’s all cool guys, but we can’t hang about.’ Tom managed what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

Both agents were shaken and disorientated, but their positions on the floor—face-down—had protected them from the worst effects of the grenade.

Tom quickly checked both insurgents. Long Hair was dead; most of his brain was decorating the wall behind them. Barcelona was still alive but it seemed unlikely he would stay that way for long, as he had two clean holes in his upper chest and was barely breathing.

Hamed said, in a panicked and trembling voice, ‘We gotta get out. He was calling for reinforcements to come get us. Let’s get the phones and weapons from them and fuck off.’

They searched the insurgents, retrieving their phones and pistols before leaving the building as calmly as they could manage. They walked to the parked Subaru and drove off, Tom behind the wheel.

‘Control from Alpha One Foot. Package secure, no injuries and we’re exfil in vehicle. All units will RVP back at the palace,’ said Tom.

‘Thanks, man. I thought we were toast,’ said Mike in between heavy breaths, the panic and shock still visible on his face.

2

Later

Basra Palace

Tom, Damien, and Buster met with Mike and Hamed back in the briefing room, all clutching large mugs of tea. The atmosphere was thick with a mixture of tension and relief. Both CIA agents seemed to have visibly aged since the pre-deployment briefing with the strain of their recent experience. Tom yawned as he leaned back in one of the cheap chairs.

‘So, what went wrong, then?’ Damien asked.

‘Al-Ahmed must have been compromised,’ said Mike, his blue eyes etched with a mixture of relief and regret. ‘He was terrified when we got there, saying that they were on to him and we must get him out. He wasn’t making much sense when the other two goons turned up; they iced Al-Ahmed without a word and, before we knew it, we were screwed,’

‘They were on the phone straight away to someone,’ added Hamed, ‘saying they had American kuffars, and telling someone to send people to come get us. They were delighted and clearly expecting plenty dollars for us. Thank fuck you got us out, Tom.’

‘Forget about it,’ said Tom with a half-smile.