Milton started to toss equipment from the racks inside: a big rifle, an MP5 SMG, a carrying case for a pistol, a bandolier of grenades, night-vision goggles, ammunition. Satisfied, he yanked the door shut. “Here,” he said, tossing the MP5 over to her.

“Thanks,” she said. “I’ll drive. You ride shotgun. Open the door.”

Milton jogged around and rolled the door all the way up to the top. Sunlight streamed inside the garage; Beatrix squinted out into it, still unable to see any sign of the men Milton believed were outside. He joined her in the people carrier. Beatrix put her hand on the ignition.

“You ready?”

Milton had chosen an AR-10. It was a big machine gun that fired a 7.62mm cartridge; a nice, heavy bullet. He flicked the selector to full auto.

“Ready,” he said.

She turned the key.

10

Beatrix floored the gas. The tyres bit on the concrete floor and she had to wrestle the wheel straight as the Vivaro lurched from side to side.

The lookout that Milton had noticed saw them first. Beatrix saw him running as they came out of the door. He was wearing black from head to foot, with a balaclava on his head and black gloves. He held a short submachine gun.

The only way out of the yard was to pass directly by the building that the lookout had used for shelter. There was just enough space to fit the people carrier between the building and an old railway carriage that had been dumped there. It would have been an excellent choke point, but Beatrix and Milton had reacted before the blockade had been arranged. They raced through the gap, jolting and juddering across the uneven ground and passing the running man at forty.

They came out from between the buildings and onto the open space that led to the road. She saw them all now. An assault team was mustering, disembarking from two vans and two SUVs, all four vehicles equipped with tinted windows. They must have heard the sound of the approaching vehicle since Beatrix was driving it at high revs; indeed, they had evidently been warned by the lookout that Milton had spotted.

The parked vehicles blocked the direct route out of the yard and onto the road. Beatrix slammed on the brakes and spun the wheel hard to the left, sliding the unwieldy minivan around so that Milton’s window faced the collection of men and vehicles. She stomped on the gas, the wheels biting in the grit and dirt and sending a spray up behind them.