‘Get veiled up.’ He took the British army-issue face veil from around his neck. Draping it over his head and tucking it into his clothing. The perforated scrim loosely woven. Covering his white face while allowing him unhindered vision. ‘Right, let’s do this like they taught us in Hereford. Bounds and overwatch. Thirty-metre spacing. Off you go.’

He sank into the undergrowth and watched as Wade patrolled slowly forwards. Staying in the shadows and moving slowly through the grounds. Sinking into the darker shadow once he’d covered thirty paces. Becoming invisible to the naked eye. Waiting for Mickey to move up and pass him. The two men patrolled slowly around the hotel, seeing and hearing nothing other than the incessant buzz of insects. Mickey paced slowly up to where Wade had taken cover in the shadow of a large bush. Squatting down slowly beside him.

‘This place is as quiet as the grave. I think we can go and get an hour’s kip before—’

‘No sudden movements, gentlemen.’ The woman’s voice in his earpiece was whisper quiet, but authoritative. Stilling his urge to go into a compromised comms routine. ‘We’re your guardian angels. Do not react, do not turn around, do not start looking for us. When I tell you, both get up and move off towards the hotel. Make it look like you’ve completed doing your sneaky-beaky turn and all you want now is to get into your pits. Don’t look back, and don’t go for your weapons if you hear anything out of the ordinary. It’ll only make the men stalking you nervous. And we don’t want them shooting you, do we? One click if you understood all that.’

Mickey pushed his transmit button briefly.

‘Good. OK, get on with it. We’ve got your backs.’

Mickey nodded. Stood up, muttering to Wade to follow his example. Walked at a steady pace towards the hotel. Not looking back. And feeling vulnerable in a way he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt before. Resisting the temptation to look back only by force of will. Until the gunshots.

Suppressed fire. No louder than a rumour of a distant war. Subsonic ammunition, at a guess. Two shots, with less than a second between them. Followed a moment later by a long burst of the same from the near distance. A full magazine’s worth on full auto.

The two men turned to see a pair of camouflage-dressed figures wearing night-vision goggles running across the grass towards them. And a pair of sprawled bodies a few paces from where they stood. The newcomers grabbed hold of the bodies by their collars, dragging them towards the closest foliage. Both men were undeniably dead. Headshots. And equally undeniably Far Eastern in origin. Both corpses with an unfamiliar design of suppressed machine pistol strapped to body harnesses festooned with kit. Spare mags. Stun grenades. Medical kit. The full special forces Christmas tree.