Gregory let out a grunt as the current shot through his system. His body jerked wildly and his legs buckled before he dropped to the concrete flood with a thud. Bowman bent down before he could recover and bumped him again. Gregory groaned through his tightly clenched jaw as another wave of pain ripped through his body. The voltage wasn’t powerful enough to kill or knock someone out, but it would still hurt like fuck. He hit Gregory repeatedly, delivering shocks to his legs, his stomach.

He gave Gregory a final bump to the groin. Then he tossed the prod aside and stood up.

Gregory lay in a shrivelled ball at his feet, moaning softly. Bowman watched him for several seconds with a look of cold contempt. He gave his back to Gregory. Nodded at Casey and Webb.

‘Let’s get out of here,’ he said.

‘Good idea,’ Casey said. ‘I don’t know about you, but I’ve seen enough shit for one day.’

Bowman started towards the cell door.

‘Look out!’ Webb cried.

He spun round.

He saw Gregory gripping a pistol. The gun he’d seen on the bench. The GSh-18 semi-automatic. Colonel Lubowa’s weapon. Gregory had snatched it up and swept it across his front in a flash.

The barrel pointed directly at Bowman’s chest.

Bowman had no time to react. It would take him a couple of seconds to thrust a hand down to his holster and bring up the Glock. By which time Gregory could have pulled the trigger. At a distance of four metres, there was no way he could miss.

Bowman waited to die.

Two cracks echoed violently inside the cell.

In the corner of his eye, he saw Webb standing with his Glock already drawn. The barrel flamed as he fired twice at Gregory. The bullets double-tapped him in the forehead and punched out of the back of his skull, splattering the wall with blood and brain matter. The pistol clattered against the concrete. Gregory’s arms and legs sagged, and then he dropped to the ground, as if someone had cut his strings.

Webb lowered his Glock.

Bowman nodded at him. ‘Thanks, mate.’

‘No need,’ Webb said as he stuffed his weapon back into his holster. ‘That animal had it coming.’

‘I thought you said he was a really great guy,’ Casey said.

‘He was,’ Bowman said. ‘Once. A long time ago.’

He stared at Gregory for a long moment. The former hero of B Squadron. One of the best officers in the history of the Regiment. Now he was dead. Slumped on the floor of a torture chamber in the heart of the jungle, his brains slicking down the wall. He didn’t feel a pang of sadness, or pity. He didn’t feel anything at all. He just wanted to get the hell out of Karatandu. And never come back.