He pointed upwards, and the man’s eyes followed: far overhead, three Eurasian black vultures were circling lazily in the deep blue sky.

‘They’ll kill me. A hundred per cent.’

Carr levelled his Diemaco at the guy’s forehead.

‘Wait, wait,’ said the guy. ‘Please, wait.’

‘Ten seconds,’ said Carr. ‘And believe me, I know when men are lying to me.’

‘I don’t know him, personally,’ said Yellow T-shirt, gabbling now. ‘I only know he’s a great leader. He was doing something up on the coast, somewhere near Sirte.’

‘What?’ said Carr.

‘I don’t know, I swear. Some sort of big project.’

‘Where in Sirte?’

‘I don’t know. I promise I don’t. Last I heard was they might be moving elsewhere, anyway. Somewhere south.’

Carr looked at Geordie.

He looked back at Yellow T-shirt.

‘Where?’ he said. ‘Where south?’

‘I don’t know. I can’t remember.’

Carr raised his weapon again, and started to take up the pressure on the trigger.

‘You’d better remember,’ he said.

‘Fuck,’ said the man in the yellow T-shirt, tears streaming down his face. ‘Fuck. My head’s cabbaged. I can’t fucking remember. Maybe I’ve got it wrong and they’re still in Sirte. I only heard a rumour. If you give me a minute to think…’

‘Time is short, pal,’ said Carr.

‘Oh, fucking hell. Our leader was going to send men if they were needed. I heard him say they’d be paying us two hundred dollars per day each, and more for the leader.’

‘And has he sent men?’

The guy hesitated for a moment.

‘Were you those men?’

‘No,’ said the guy.

He looked away as he said it, and Carr narrowed his eyes.

‘You’re fucking bullshitting me, pal,’ he said.

‘No, I promise.’

‘How many men does he have?’

The skinny Brummie in the yellow T-shirt was refusing to look at him, now.

‘I don’t know,’ he said.

Carr stabbed him hard in the mouth with the barrel of his weapon, opening his upper lip and knocking out his front two teeth.

‘How many?’ he said.

‘I don’t know,’ said the guy, spitting blood and teeth into the sand. ‘About ten or twelve, I think.’

‘That’s all you know?’

‘I swear.’

Carr looked at him in silence for a few moments.

He was sure the guy was hiding something, but he didn’t have the time to force it out of him.

‘I swear,’ said Yellow T-shirt, again.

‘Well, then,’ said Carr. ‘That’s us finished.’

He looked down at the man.

Fifty metres away, the rear truck burst into flames as Kevin McMullen threw a burning rag into the diesel running from its severed fuel pipe.

‘If I let you live, and you can somehow get out of here, what will you do?’ said Carr. ‘Go back to the UK?’

Yellow T-shirt said nothing.

‘Because I’m afraid I can’t allow that,’ said Carr.