Tom jumped back and kicked out. The pistol flew out of the boy’s hand, just as the sound exploded behind him. For a fraction of a second Tom thought the pistol had discharged as it clattered onto the tarmac, the air next to his cheek displaced by the bullet’s journey. But the boy’s head jolted back, a three-inch crater where his left ear had been. The fatal bullet had come from behind Tom. He swung round. Three metres away, Qazi’s weapon was still aimed at the boy. He raised his eyebrows at Tom. ‘That was close.’

‘Why’d you do that? The kid was down.’

Qazi ignored the question. He came forward and took out a knife, then bent down and cut the straps of the dead insurgent’s backpack and pulled it from under him. But Tom’s gaze was concentrated on the dark stain on his right thigh, where he had seen him wiping his palm when they met by the gym.

Tom glanced at the knife, then back at the stain. And saw Dave’s lifeless face, the empty blue eyes, the long, seeping gash across his throat.

And then he knew.

Qazi pocketed the knife. Lifted the backpack and started to walk away.

‘Stop.’

Qazi turned slowly, a withering look on his face. Tom flung himself at the Afghan and they both slammed onto the ground and rolled. Tom heard the clink of the knife, saw it, lunged for it, grabbed it.

An American officer and two others rushed towards them, seized Tom and pulled him off, twisting the weapon out of his grip.

‘What the fuck is this?’

Tom shoved the American away and threw himself again at Qazi, taking him down in a rugby tackle as Qazi kicked back at him. As they struggled, Tom gripped the seam of the Afghan’s fatigues until the Americans leaped on him and wrenched him free.

Qazi stood motionless, his eyes boring into Tom’s. But all Tom could see was Dave’s face, his eyes gazing upwards and past him, the life in them gone. Qazi reached down slowly, picked up the knife and put it back in its sheath.

Chapter 7

7

A hard hot morning sun had just appeared over the blast barriers and was already training its unforgiving glare on Tom. He could feel the sweat trickling itchily downwards under the body armour that all personnel had been ordered to wear after the raid. On the surface it looked like just another day at the base. But underneath everyone was on edge. There had been no sleep. An acrid smog of burned rubber and fuel still hung in the air.