Mallet dropped his gaze to the dying man. His breathing had reduced to a faint murmur. Dark blood pumped steadily out of his stomach wound.

‘We should put a bullet in his head,’ Mavinda said. ‘Put him out of his misery. Best thing for him.’

‘No.’ Mallet looked up and turned to Webb. ‘Give him a couple of morphine shots from the emergency kit. That’s the least we can do for this poor bastard.’

Mavinda clicked his tongue. ‘A waste. It would be easier to shoot him.’

‘He gets the shots,’ Mallet snapped.

‘Your choice.’

He walked out of the room. Casey’s gaze lingered on the massacred civilians for a beat. ‘I thought the Russians were directing the coup,’ she said.

‘They are,’ Mallet replied.

‘But the guard didn’t say anything about Russians being involved in the assault. We haven’t seen them on the streets. Where are they?’

‘They’ll stay in the shadows. They won’t be doing the actual fighting.’

‘Why not?’

‘It would make the Kremlin look bad. Assisting a band of rebels to destabilise a central African government. That’s too much, even for Moscow.’

‘Especially if they lost,’ Bowman added. ‘The Russians would be embarrassed. They’d have to deal with the prospect of their own guys being taken hostage. There’s no way they’d want to risk that.’

‘So they’ll just stay in the background, giving orders?’ asked Casey.

‘More or less.’

Mallet looked up at her.

‘Don’t underestimate these fuckers,’ he said. ‘They might operate in the shadows, but they’re just as lethal as if they were out there doing the shooting. They’re doing exactly what we do on team jobs. Training up a foreign force, showing them how to kill the enemy. We won’t be trading any bullets with them, but the Russians are our main enemy in this fight.’

He stood up straight and nodded at the others.

‘Get back to the wagon. We’re leaving for Rogandu at once.’

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Four

They took the back roads out of Marafeni. The major and his three deputies led the way in the Hilux. Then the Cell team in the Land Cruiser. Then the ten other guys in the platoon in the Unimog. Mavinda guided the convoy north from the palace, past the rows of foreign embassies and terracotta-roofed high commissions. Tendrils of smoke trickled upwards from behind several of the compound walls. The mood was tense. Bowman could feel it in the air. Bands of marauders prowled the city, smashing up storefronts, clubbing people to death. Several of the Machete Boys were passed out drunk in the streets. Three of them were celebrating in front of a hostel, jeering wildly as they loosed off rounds into the air. They scarpered for cover at the first sight of the approaching convoy.