‘That’s not how things work,’ the prince said, flushing. ‘They’re businesspeople, at the end of the day. Everything’s open to negotiation.’

Wolf smiled at him, not unkindly. ‘Oh, have you a thing or two to learn, boy.’

Ben slammed a full magazine into an M4 and tossed the weapon to the prince. ‘You were born into a line of kings, Richard. Do yourself a favour and try to act like one. Now, enough talk. They’ll be here in a minute, so let’s get this done.’

Prince Richard stood there dumbly holding the rifle. Ben reached for his crumpled Gauloises pack. Just the one left. Now was the time. There would very likely never be another. He drew it out, flipped open his Zippo and slowly lit it. If this was going to be his last ever cigarette, he meant to savour the moment.

He was about to throw away the crumpled pack when he noticed the plain black business card inside, the one that Carstairs had given him. He’d forgotten it was even there until now.

Ben crumpled the pack in his fist with the card still inside, and tossed it away into the rocks.

‘Showtime,’ Wolf said.

And then the final attack began.

Chapter 50

The massed enemy forces advanced towards the barricade. Children were crying. Father Bugnolio shook hands with Francine, then spat in his palms and picked up a rifle. Ben flicked away his half-smoked cigarette and shouldered his weapon. Madison was to one side of him, the prince to the other. ‘Stand firm,’ Ben said to Richard. ‘Make every shot count.’

The prince nodded. Something had changed in his eyes, and a kind of serenity had come into his expression. ‘I’m not afraid any longer,’ he said in a quiet, steady voice.

Wolf took up a kneeling position with his carbine trained on the gap in the barricade. Holt and Baldacci were close by the wall, ready to intercept whatever and whoever came through the opening.

But Muhammad Omar Nabi was no longer taking any chances, even if it meant having to content himself with taking away a dead prince. He ordered the 90mm cannon to fire.

At this close range, the screeching blast was simultaneous with the missile’s impact against the barricade wall. An explosion of flame and shrapnel and flying rock, killing Holt and Baldacci who had been standing too close to the wall to have any chance of escaping the blast.

A second’s stunned silence, apart from the high-pitched singing in half-deafened ears. And now the enemy soldiers came pouring through the breach. The first rank ran into a wall of gunfire and fell back momentarily before more and more flooded through the smashed barricade. This was it. It would be a fight to the last round, and then knives out, for those still standing by then.