Ben was about to reply when something on the floor caught his eye, and to his horror he realised that not all the kids had got away. Buchanan’s missed shot had hit something after all.

The fourth young boy in the apartment had been standing close to the wall when Buchanan’s stray bullet had torn through and hit him between the shoulder blades. He’d managed to stagger a couple of steps before collapsing against a threadbare sofa, behind which he was lying partially hidden. He was still alive and moving, but the blood was spilling out fast and the bullet must have nicked the aorta or perforated the heart. It was soaking his clothes almost black. His breath was coming in fast and ragged gulps of air, bright red froth foaming from the corners of his mouth.

‘Oh, fuck!’ yelled Meadows, seeing what Ben had seen. Ben got to the kid first, throwing himself down on his knees and rolling him over to examine the extent of the damage. It wasn’t good. In seconds Ben’s hands were slick and shiny with arterial blood and he knew the kid only had a few moments left to live. Meadows, the medic, wanted to step in and take over, but Ben wouldn’t let him. The rest of the men stood around watching in dismay, except for Buchanan who hovered by the window looking blank. The boy’s pulse felt thin and reedy and now his breathing was shallow. Then he gave a final groaning sigh and his body settled.

‘He’s gone, Ben,’ Meadows said. ‘Give it up.’

Ben passed a bloody hand over the boy’s face to close his eyes. He got to his feet and looked at Buchanan, but Buchanan looked away. ‘Nice work, Commander,’ Ben said. His voice sounded strangled and thick. It was hard to get the words out. Buchanan made no reply.

‘Let’s get out of here,’ Goffin said from the doorway.

Ben pointed at the dead boy. ‘We can’t just leave him like this.’

‘To hell with him,’ Goffin said. ‘He’s collateral damage. We’re pulling out.’

Chapter 13