Ten or twelve guys at most, he figured. Veteran SF operators. Calling the shots, directing the KUF paramilitary force in battle. What the military theorists liked to call a force multiplier. The Russians would have been on the ground for weeks, probably. Drilling the rebels in fire-and-move tactics, suppressive fire, using the dead ground to advance unseen on an enemy position. Nothing complicated. But highly effective. A few core tactical principles, good instructors and an intensive training package could transform a group of ragtag rebels into a cohesive, disciplined fighting unit.

If we come up against those guys, we’re knackered.

He said, ‘Still nothing from Mike?’

Mallet grimaced and shook his head. ‘It’s been hours since they’ve heard from him.’

‘Could mean anything,’ said Loader.

‘Aye,’ Mallet replied. ‘But it doesn’t look good.’

Loader said, ‘If he is under attack, let’s hope he can hold them rebels off for a while.’

‘Mike won’t give up that easily,’ Bowman said. ‘He’s got forty guys with him from the Presidential Guard, remember. The best troops in the country. And the palace is in a good defensive position. He should be able to hold out until we can relieve the pressure.’

‘So why isn’t he answering?’

‘We’ll find out soon enough,’ said Mallet.

They raced on. Bowman kept glancing at the clock, counting down the time and the distance to the palace in his head. Eighteen minutes to go. Seven miles. Almost there. They were passing through the outskirts of the city. Bowman saw tin-roofed shacks, crude dwellings, gleaming new mosques. Mountains of rubbish festered along the sides of the road. The streets were dark and empty. Everyone had locked themselves indoors to wait out the fighting. Like the moment the outlaws rode into a town in the Wild West. No one wanted to get caught in the crossfire.

They continued west until they hit the main bridge across the Karatandu River. Bowman stuck close to the Hilux as the convoy raced across towards the centre of Marafeni. Mallet strained his eyes, scanning the ground ahead. The three other operators in the back of the Land Cruiser stared out of the windows with taut expressions, gripping their rifles. They drove on for another quarter of a mile, and then Casey shot forward and pointed through the windshield.

‘Look,’ she said.