He might have blown it all at the crest had the sentry not chosen just that moment to relieve himself. The faint ammonia smell rose in the Scorpion’s nostrils as the drops pattered a few inches from his face. Instantly the Scorpion dropped the wire coil and struck, heaving himself over the crest in a single fluid motion as he stabbed upwards under the rib cage, twisting the khanjar viciously while his left hand choked off the cry that never came. The urine mingled with blood as he let the lifeless body sink down into the sand.

He studied the body for a moment. The sentry had worn a black bisht for concealment, but it was an Arab all right. Not a café-au-lait-colored Yemeni; either a Palestinian or a Shiite. He couldn’t be sure. He had been right about the arms, though. The sentry had carried an AK-47. For the moment the Scorpion left it lying on the ground. He wiped the blood from his hand and the khanjar on to the sentry’s robe.

He slid closer to the edge. If anyone had heard him or happened to look up as he peered down, he would be trapped with no way down. Had there been a faint clink as he had eased the sentry’s body to the ground? He couldn’t remember. But he had no choice. He had to see their position.

The Scorpion rolled over to the wadi edge and peered down at the lengthening shadows which covered almost all of the wadi. The sun was almost below the horizon that blazed fire-red as if a war was going on beyond the edge of the earth. Then he spotted the enemy on the ridge below him and his heart sank.

There were at least thirty of them. Far too many for him to kill without catching it himself. Worse, it had grown too dark for him to spot whether they were set up by the arfaj down in the wadi. He studied the crest of the opposite hill carefully, scanning it inch by inch. If it was a two-sided ambush that was where they would be, he thought. And if it was a two-sided ambush his plan wouldn’t work. Then what? he wondered. Don’t think about that, he answered himself. Just deal with what is.

He studied the men below him. They were only twenty meters away. He could hear them clearly, stirring, breathing, the occasional whisper. Someone struck a match to light a cigarette, the flame suddenly bright as a flare and an officer’s voice snapped hoarsely for the camel slime to put it out. That was something, at least, the Scorpion thought. They were ordinary soldiers, not professionals.