Mickey had already given his colleagues as much of the good news as he could. Telling his team that this was, in part, an evaluation mission. With Cavendish, not only ex-SAS but looking crisp and efficient in his number 8 combat uniform, as the evaluator. Not true, but a very effective way to make sure all concerned got up on their toes. And stayed that way.

‘We’re going to assume that the other side are very much after kidnapping or assassinating the principal. And we’ll be managing his security in a way that befits that threat. In short, HRE doing exactly what it says on the tin.’

He’d noted the presence of four additional bodies on the flight. Three men and a woman. Fitting a certain profile, one that Mickey reckoned he knew from his days at Credenhill Lines. But on drawing the major’s attention to them, the only response had been a dismissive shrug.

‘BATSUB.’

‘The what now?’

Cavendish had rolled his eyes. ‘Sorry, I forget we don’t all talk Green. British Army Training Support Unit Belize. BATSUB. They tend to be experienced soldiers who’ve done the training course and fancy living out here for a while. It’s a pretty cool posting, if you don’t mind the heat. And the spiders. Black widows for show, brown recluses for go. With a bite that’ll rot a finger clean off. Snakes, of course. The fer-de-lance being bloody horrible. It’s got venom that can pre-digest an entire limb if not treated promptly. And the Mayan coral snake’s bite can kill a man in minutes. So watch where you tread. Mosquitos, of course. Poison frogs. Bullet ants…’

‘Bullet ants?’

‘They have a bite like a bullet wound, from a pain perspective. Lasts for a whole day too. At least one of those poor bootneck bastards is going to find that out the hard way.’

‘So those four have volunteered to train soldiers in an environment that is basically trying to either kill them immediately or digest them from the outside in?’

Cavendish had smiled, wry amusement shining through the fatigue.

‘I do believe he’s got it. Don’t tell me, you thought they were some sort of elite commando unit.’

He’d wandered off down to the galley to get a coffee, volunteering to fetch one for Mickey. Who took another look at the quartet. Forced to agree that they didn’t look all that alert. Three of them fast asleep in their seats, the fourth reading a book.