The analyst rocked her head uncertainly. ‘Let’s assume that a third of the eighty-three oil wells stop working within a year. If each one produces five hundred barrels a day, at a black market price of thirty dollars a barrel that’s—’

‘A hundred and forty-nine million, four hundred and sixty-two thousand one hundred and eight dollars that IS groups won’t be getting their hands on,’ James said.

‘You did that in your head?’ the deputy prime minister asked, smirking.

‘I’m good at arithmetic,’ James said modestly, as laughter rippled around the table.

The special forces colonel eyed James. ‘So what kind of operation would you propose?’

James smiled uneasily. ‘That’s more your field of expertise than mine, Colonel. Obviously we need to know where Yuen and Sachs are before we can rescue them. If we found a large well and sabotaged the control systems – perhaps with a small drone strike – there’s a good chance Yuen and Sachs would be sent out to fix it. As long as we don’t arouse suspicion, a small commando-style team on the ground should be able to deal with whatever security team has been put around them.’

‘And your method of escape?’ the colonel asked.

James smiled. ‘Sir, I’m a mission controller at CHERUB. This is your field of expertise.’

The colonel seemed flattered by James’ show of respect. ‘You’d have to pick a well close to the sea, or near a border with a friendly country,’ he explained. ‘As long as you met that criterion, escape would be far from impossible.’

The defence minister cleared his throat. ‘Escape may not be impossible, but the government is in a fragile state and the policy on military intervention on the ground in Islamic State-controlled areas is not about to change.’

The deputy prime minister thumped on the desk angrily. ‘These are British citizens, kidnapped on British soil. Are you really telling me that you intend to do nothing to assist them?’

‘The policy is clear,’ the intelligence minister shot back.

‘The policy is an ass,’ the defence minister roared, as James found himself with another reason to hate politicians.

‘Gentlemen,’ the head of MI6 said firmly, as he got to his feet. ‘It’s not essential that we send in British soldiers, with British uniforms and equipment. What we need is a small force of trained operatives with no links to the British military. If the operation goes wrong, we can deny all knowledge.’

The colonel bristled at this idea. ‘What’s the point having British special forces if we’re afraid to use them?’

But the three politicians instinctively liked the idea of a mission where their asses would be covered if things went wrong.