By now they were near the bottom of the wadi. In the low light, he could just make out the shape of a vehicle, and two men standing next to it.

One was smoking, the red glow from the cigarette illuminating his face every time he took a drag.

Firas rolled to a stop.

‘Look at them,’ he said, waving a palm in irritation. ‘My brother and his half-witted son, smoking. He will give us away.’

He opened the window.

‘Put that cigarette out, you fool!’ he yelled.

Carr smiled at the irony: they’d just lit up the whole area with their brakes, and now anyone within five hundred metres would have heard Firas shouting.

But there was no point worrying about it now.

He slid open his door and got out, taking a moment to stretch and to sniff the air.

It was damp and warm, and it smelled faintly of sulphur.

On the other side of the VW, Geordie and Kevin McMullen were doing the same; Fred West was standing off to the rear, having a piss.

Firas brought the two men over.

‘My brother Hassan, John,’ he said, ‘and his fool of a son, Mehdi.’

John Carr shook Hassan’s hand; Mehdi had turned away, looking sheepish.

‘Okay, Firas,’ said Carr. ‘Time’s pressing. Let’s get the gear.’ He looked over his shoulder. ‘Guys, let’s go.’

They walked round to the rear of Hassan’s vehicle, and Mehdi pulled aside the tarpaulin, revealing four numbered bags and four numbered Peli cases, into which each man had placed his zeroed weapons after the range day at Sennybridge.

‘Check your weapons and get changed,’ said Carr, though the instruction was superfluous.

He opened his own Peli, to reveal his Diemaco, the night sight already fitted and five thirty-round magazines lying at the side.

He picked the weapon up, and cleared it from years of habit. Satisfied, he inserted a magazine into the housing, pointed the rifle away and cocked it.

It felt good in his hands.

He switched on the night-sight, the green glow inside illuminating his eye as he scanned the area.

No-one in sight.

Happy, he switched off the sight, and went through the same drills with the Sig Sauer pistol.

Next, he dropped his jeans and climbed into his US pattern multicam, which had been given a dozen washes to remove its new stiffness. He pulled on his equipment carrier, holstered the pistol and picked up the Diemaco.

He did a quick check of his carrier to make sure it had everything he needed at hand – ammunition, twenty-four-hour emergency rations, water, med kit, radio, and a metal mug for cooking and making brews.

The lifesaving basics which he’d carried with him for two decades.

They were travelling light scales: the heavier weapons systems and the remainder of the kit from his list would be aboard the two other vehicles waiting for them on the Libyan side.