Carpenter swung the gun towards Gannon. Gannon pulled the trigger of his MP5. Three bullets thudded into Carpenter’s chest, dead centre. He fell back, three red flowers blossoming on his shirt. The Kalashnikov clattered to the floor. Carpenter’s legs buckled and he fell to his knees, then slumped on to his back. His chest juddered, bloody foam frothed between his lips, and then he was still.

‘It was his choice,’ said Gannon. ‘He wanted it that way.’

‘I know,’ said Shepherd flatly.

‘He could have surrendered. He could have come with us.’

‘I know,’ saidShepherd. But he also knew how Carpenter had felt. There wasno wayhe could have spent twenty years in prison. That went for Shepherd as much as Carpenter. Life was for living. It was about being with family and friends. Watching your children grow. Being with people you loved. And if you couldn’t do that, then maybe a bullet was better.

He turned and walked back to the bridge.

‘We gave you real bullets,’ Gannon shouted after him.

‘I know,’ said Shepherd.

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