Eddie saw the demolition charge being placed. Drew his pistol. Put it on the ground in front of him and got on his knees. Hands behind his head. Knowing all too well what was about to happen. Joe bursting out of the office behind him, phone in hand.

‘I got a call! Someone’s shooting up one of my…’ He stopped, double-taking at the sight of his right-hand man on his knees. ‘What the fuck you doing, Eddie?’

The overwhelming thought in Eddie’s mind, as he looked back over his shoulder, was that of freedom. Of never having to fight the urge to empty his bowels whenever the man who was supposed to be his friend looked at him. And suddenly, blissfully, he was at peace.

‘Give it up, Joe! They’re special forces! There’s no way even you can stand against this!’

Wincing as Joe’s face contorted into a murderous, betrayed glare.

‘You fucking traitor! Do him, Rocco!’

Eddie shook his head as the enforcer stepped forward. The reassembled .45 in his right hand. And just had time to reflect on the irony of being shot by the same gun that killed Nigel before the first bullet hit him in the chest. Blowing a spectacular gout of blood out across the floor behind him. Then went over backwards, a nerveless sack of dead meat, as the second shot blew the top of his head off. Joe was already running for the emergency exit, shouting over his shoulder.

‘Come on, Rocco!’

Punching in the lock code to his emergency door. Grabbing his briefcase and tossing the combat shotgun to Rocco as his new enforcer sprinted for the exit. With an almighty bang the door from the central arch was blown open. The explosive charge used to open it loud enough to burst eardrums.

Ac1d shrieked in terror as the first urban-camo-clad figure came through the opening. A woman’s eyes over a grinning half-skull mask. And made the fundamental mistake of grabbing his laptop as he turned to run. Which looked like he was reaching for a weapon. A reflex three-round burst dropped him, dead before he hit the concrete floor.

At the other end of the arch Rocco opened fire. Punching a spray of heavy shotgun slugs up the arch’s length, fanning the shots from left to right. Momentarily sending the assault team into cover and then stepping back through the door. Giving Joe critical seconds to push it shut. A tattoo of gunfire hammering at its thick steel lining as Joe dropped a steel bar into the waiting bracket.

‘That’ll hold them long enough. Come on!’

Rocco followed him across the road that ran down the rear of the arches. And into the tunnel cut through the long, shallow urban thicket on the other side. Joe keeping up a non-stop commentary as he pushed through the spiky foliage.