Ben looked again at Buchanan, who was supposed to be in charge of this mission, not Goffin. But right now Buchanan didn’t look to be in charge of very much at all. He was staring down at his feet, his pistol hanging limp by his side. He’d screwed up badly and he knew it. Fumbled his gun in a moment of stress and fluffed a close-range shot that nobody of his skill level should have missed. That was what limited real-world combat experience could all too often do for a soldier, even a very capable one, when things got intense. Excellence on the training range was all fine and dandy. When your targets started shooting back at you for real, that was when your ability was put to the test. Buchanan should never have been given this mission, still less placed in command of it. And now this poor kid had paid for that bad choice with his life.

Outside in the street, the market crowd was still milling around largely going about its business, but now the youngsters were back. The boy who’d been last out of the window was getting an audience, pointing up at the building. People were taking notice of what he was saying, looking where the kid was pointing. A couple of them had their phones in hand. There was no telling who they could be calling. And no telling how long before this place could be swarming with Taliban fighters. Ben hated to admit it, but Goffin was right.

‘Okay. Let’s go.’ They hurried out. Closed both apartment doors behind them, and headed fast down the stairs to the courtyard below, through the gate and into the alleyway. At its mouth Ben could see the crowd moving closer to the building, their anger gathering momentum. The direction the task force had come was totally blocked off and they have to find another way around. ‘This way,’ Goffin said, pointing up the alley.

They reached the far end and emerged into a warren of backstreets that radiated in all directions. The situation was highly dangerous: cut off from their transportation, their objective completely blown, with a hostile crowd that might suddenly head them off and surround them. Ironically it was Goffin who came to their rescue, calling up Saleem on the radio and delivering him a stream of directions in rapid-fire Pashto. Minutes later the vans had skirted around in a circle and came barrelling down the street. They clambered aboard and took off. Ben was glad not to be riding in the same van as Buchanan, because otherwise he might not have been able to restrain himself from knocking his head off.