It was a fifteen-minute walk back to the underground garage, and he enjoyed the feel of the morning sunshine on his face, and even the smell of the traffic fumes.

He was starting to get that tingling feeling, that feeling of being just a little more alive.

At 8.15 a.m. he was outside the door to the apartment.

He knocked, and Geordie opened it.

‘You bastard,’ he said, shaking his head.

Carr followed him inside.

‘Just the way it is,’ he said. ‘I had Arabella, you had Mrs Palm and her five sisters.’

‘I’m just too fucking professional to spend time mincing around with some posh tart,’ said Geordie, witheringly. ‘I got me head down ready for the job.’

Carr just grinned.

‘Fuck off,’ said Skelton.

The other two were up and ready, and pulling on their well-worn boots: no-one wanted to be breaking in new footwear.

‘Alright, guys?’ said Carr. ‘Any chance of a brew?’

‘Bob Hope and no hope,’ said Fred West. ‘No teabags, no kettle. It’s fucking ridiculous.’

‘Better be some in the rations on the fucking wagons,’ said Kev McMullen. ‘I kid you not.’

‘Aye, fucking right man,’ said Geordie. ‘We need a brew on ops, John.’

‘Don’t panic,’ said Carr. ‘It’s all sorted. Once we’re on those vehicles it’ll be like Iraq and Afghan all over again.’

He got himself a Coke and a protein bar from the fridge – he didn’t want either, but he needed something – and went again to the window, to look out at the lake.

At just before nine, there was a gentle knock at the door.

Fred West opened it, and Firas walked in.

‘Morning, gentlemens,’ he said. ‘All is good?’

‘All good,’ said Carr.

They followed him down to the garage and into the VW Transporter.

With a final look over his shoulder, Firas pulled away and drove smoothly up the ramp from the carpark and away.

The traffic was surprisingly heavy, and typically Tunisian, so he drove in silent concentration until he was out of the narrower city streets and onto the wide, flat Sortie Ouest.

Then, over his shoulder, he said, ‘We drive now for eight hours. There is food and water in the cool box. Or you can sleep if you wish.’

West and McMullen had already spread themselves out into comfortable positions on the rearmost seats.

Geordie Skelton turned to Carr. ‘That pair’ll be gone in a minute,’ he said. ‘I reckon one of us two should keep his wits about us, eh, mucker?’

‘Aye,’ said Carr. ‘That lassie kept me up half the night, so you can stag on. Being as how you were so professional, and got your head down, and all that.’

‘You’re a lucky bastard,’ said Skelton, bitterly. ‘What the fuck do they see in you?’

Carr just closed his eyes, a contented smile on his face, and drifted off, to the sounds of Skelton’s muttered curses.

Chapter 76.

76.