Even before he had consciously identified the sound of a scraped pebble, he was already rising in a twisting motion to face the Arab guard. The guard motioned with the AK-47 and then made the mistake of grabbing the Scorpion’s right sleeve near the wrist, presumably to drag him into the light. Without thinking, the Scorpion was into the sequence which Koenig had drilled into them so often that they could do it in their sleep (and sometimes did, because the training included being attacked in bed in the middle of the night). He splayed the fingers of his right hand, to loosen the grip on his wrist, and rotated his hand up. At the top of the arc, he twisted his hand to grab the Arab’s wrist, brought his left hand up to lock the hands together and continued the counter-clockwise motion, breaking the Arab’s wrist. The Arab had a fraction of a second to scream before the Scorpion thrust the knife edge of his left hand into the Arab’s throat, smashing the Adam’s apple.

The Arab was dead before he hit the ground, the Scorpion already plucking away the AK-47 and running through the shadows, because in those few seconds all hell had broken loose. Yet even through his fear, anguish stabbed at his heart, because in the Arab’s scream he saw two lives, Kelly’s and his own, sizzle into nothing like two specks of spit on a hot griddle.

Scattered shots were fired and there were shouts as guards ran wildly about, milling in confusion like insects in a broken anthill. Prince Abdul Sa’ad, Nuruddin and the others stood uncertainly, caught for a moment in the flickering light. For the briefest instant, Abdul Sa’ad’s eyes scanned the ancient mounds, trying to seek out the intruder. Then they ran towards cars parked nearby.

“He’s there—to the right!” the Scorpion shouted to two guards, who began running towards the mound where he was pointing. He ran behind them for a moment, then peeled back towards the mosque, where he had parked his rental car. He stopped because guards had already closed off that direction, then broke towards a small cluster of potters’ shacks. Someone shouted and dust skipped around his feet as the bullets ricocheted off the ground. He had been spotted!