‘Ask them for it,’ said el Jaziri, nodding at Carr and Skelton.

But before Firas had the chance, the pickup accelerated towards them and skidded to a halt.

‘Leave them alone and get in the fucking car, Yussef,’ said the driver, through his window. ‘There’s a problem on the other side of town.’

‘Ah, shit,’ said el Jaziri. He looked malevolently at Firas. ‘This is your lucky day,’ he said. ‘If I catch you on the way back…’

Cursing, he ran to the vehicle and jumped into the passenger seat.

Carr watched as it performed a screeching U-turn and sped off south in a cloud of dust.

‘His lucky day,’ said Carr, as Firas climbed back into the minibus. ‘He was one wrong word from me getting out and fucking him up.’

‘You speak Arabic, John?’ said Firas. He pronounced it Chan. ‘It’s unusual.’

‘Useful in my line of work,’ said Carr. ‘You okay?’

Firas grinned at him.

‘Ha,’ he said. ‘Sure. He slaps like a girl. A fool with a gun, all talk and no balls. But if the other men don’t call him, we have to pay. It’s a game, yes?’

‘So what was he saying?’ said Geordie.

‘He was talking about selling us to AQ,’ said Carr.

‘Fucking hell,’ said Geordie.

‘Aye,’ said Carr. ‘Your turn to get some kip, anyway. I’ll stag on for the rest of the journey.’

‘There is zero fucking chance of me going to sleep now,’ said Skelton, ‘and you fucking know it.’

Outside, the desert flashed by, as the minibus ate up the miles.

Chapter 77.

77.

AT EIGHT O’CLOCK, an hour after the sun set, they drove through Tataouine.

An hour after that, Firas turned off the blacktop onto a desert track, stopped and switched off the headlights, and looked over his shoulder.

‘The rendezvous is about fifteen minutes from here, John,’ he said.

He took a small radio from the glovebox, checked the channel, and pressed the talk button.

There was a brief exchange, and Firas turned to Carr.

‘They’re waiting,’ he said.

Carr turned to the team. ‘Fifteen minutes, guys,’ he said.

The Libyan restarted the VW and sent it bouncing along the uneven track, skittering stones, navigating by the light of the half-moon.

Carr’s own night vision was good, and he could see the way ahead reasonably clearly.

But to the sides, all was black.

After a short time, Firas pulled off the track and down into a shallow wadi, touching the brakes now and then to slow the vehicle.

The red brake lights repeatedly illuminated the area, and Carr chuckled to himself, reviewing his take on the efficiency of the MI6 training.

‘Where d’you learn your drills?’ he said.

‘Old Libyan Army,’ said Firas, proudly. ‘Khamis Brigade. Like special forces.’

‘Oh, aye?’ said Carr.