Pearce watched his troops as they kitted up. His own preparation so practised as to be on auto-pilot. Securing kevlar ‘Fritz’ helmets, ballistic goggles ready for use. Helping each other strap on heavy plate carriers over black boiler suits. Swaying in the moving vehicle, but getting it done quickly and without fuss. Belt kit going on last. Everything needed for a variety of circumstances. Spare mags, trauma kit, restraints, smoke grenades and flash-bangs. He talked them through one last weapon check. Loaded mags, rounds chambered, safeties off. Condition one, fingers off triggers. All four of them equipped with Heckler & Koch G36C carbines. 5.56mm, serious military firepower. Big boy stuff. Everything falling into place, the way they’d rehearsed it time after time. A machine. But something was still nagging.

The van was slowing, and looking through the windscreen he could see a motorway spec X5 on the hard shoulder two hundred metres distant. X marks the spot, his mouthiest officer joked. Her face pale, fight or flight kicking in. The driver pulled in in front of the BMW, leaving a fifty-metre gap between the two vehicles. Braking distance, for a stricken target vehicle.

‘Listen in!’

An army cliche, he knew, and one his people constantly ripped the piss out of him for. But old habits die hard. And Pearce knew the adrenaline would be fizzing in their veins. That commands would have to be crisp and clear.

‘We de-bus! We stay in the cover of the carrier! Keep it low, avoid being seen! The Road Policing boys will deploy the Stinger, then we do the heavy lifting!’

Which got him some smiles. The radio interrupted before he could continue.

‘Foxtrot Sierra Uniform from Whiskey Two Four. We’re the Romeo Papa crew at your six. Target vehicle sighted, estimate forty-five seconds to contact.’

Pearce’s response was immediate.

‘Roger Two Four. Call out Stinger release, with a countdown please. All stations, clear channel, clear channel!’

That got a series of clicks in response. Nobody was going to talk over an operation like this. Pearce knowing he had a few seconds to finish his orders.

‘You know the drill. If you have to shoot, go centre-mass!’ Nodded to his most experienced officer. ‘Richie, you’re lead! I’ll be right behind you, then Jenny, then Karl! Once we’re out of cover we go echelon left! I want maximum firepower if it kicks off! Right, let’s go!’

Richie pulled the carrier’s side door open. Climbed out and moved forward, staying low and close to the vehicle’s side. Crouching in the cover of the van’s left front wing.

‘Whiskey Two Four. Stinger in thirty seconds.’

The Road Policing officer sounding as calm. As if there was nothing more exciting than a sit down with a cuppa in the offing. Pearce mentally doffed his cap to the man.