But he wasn’t worried about that here. They all knew only too well that the world outside this shallow, dried-up riverbed was very real, and full of men who would love to kill them, and that did help to focus the mind.

And they were all highly experienced hands, and very good friends, and they weren’t going to be here long enough to start getting on each other’s nerves.

So it was simply a question of stag on, or kip, or eat, and wait.

At around 17:00hrs, Kevin McMullen wandered off to the far end of the wadi, where they had designated a rudimentary latrine.

His nerves were ramping up slightly, but he took control of his breathing, determined not to show it.

Over the past few hours he had reached a settlement with fate: if he died out here, he died. His wife and family would be taken care of in a way that he could never have managed while alive, and they’d know that he had perished in a noble cause. Coming out here to rescue two girls stolen away by these barbarians… If that wasn’t a job worth risking your life for, what was?

He finished urinating, put himself away, and stared down at the patch of damp sand.

One thing still bothered him, though.

If he…

Then he heard a sound, and turned to his left.

It was Fred West.

‘What’s up, boy?’ said West, in his Gloucestershire drawl. ‘You alright?’

‘Yep,’ said McMullen, with a grin. ‘Why?’

‘Dunno,’ said Fred. He took off his desert hat and inspected the sweat-soaked interior, before rubbing his blond hair and replacing it. ‘You were standing here staring into space, is all.’

‘Ah, I was just thinking about them fucking vultures,’ said McMullen. ‘If… you know.’

He shivered slightly, despite the temperature.

Fred West clapped Kevin McMullen on the shoulder.

‘Fucking hell, boy, you think too much,’ he said, with a grin. ‘We’re all dead – it’s just a question of when. You know that. The whole of life’s a roll of the dice, but John ain’t dying, because he’s John. Geordie’ll never die, he’s too miserable. As for you, I’ve heard you say this bollocks a thousand times. Week from now, we’ll all be on the piss somewhere, and you’ll be worrying about your missus finding out about all this shit.’

‘Yeah, you’re probably right,’ said McMullen.

He turned and walked back to his vehicle.

Fred West watched him go, thoughtfully.

It was true, what he’d said: Kev was one of those blokes who’d thought his number was up every time he left camp.

Fred understood the psychology – it was all about not tempting fate – but not the logic.

McMullen was one of the best men he’d ever worked with.