Carr shook his head as he watched him go: the stupid bastard was way too relaxed, and way too comfortable, and it was going to cost him dear.

When he disappeared inside for the third time it was 02:06hrs, and Carr and McMullen began to move back round so that they could get a good look at the front elevation.

But as they started to move, two things happened.

The first was that a door opened onto the flat roof of the villa, and a man came out on to it – temporarily framed by lighting from the internal stairwell.

The second was an urgent message in Carr’s earpiece – a call of ‘Standby, standby!’ from Skelton.

Carr and McMullen immediately went to ground, listening for the next transmission.

Chapter 91.

91.

CARR WAITED, STILL watching the villa through his night sight.

A moment later, Skelton transmitted again.

‘That’s one Bravo on a motorcycle, towards the compound,’ he said.

‘Roger,’ whispered Carr, just as he heard the hairdryer whine of a small-engined motorbike.

He watched as it appeared on the road out front, its headlight glowing weakly, and then disappeared out of sight to the front of the compound.

‘Stop, stop, stop,’ said Skelton.

‘Roger,’ said Carr. ‘What’s happening?’

‘Wait one,’ transmitted Skelton. Then: ‘I can tell it’s stopped near the compound, John, but I’m too far away to get any detail. Sorry, mate.’

Carr cursed quietly.

He turned to McMullen.

‘You hear that, Kev?’ he whispered.

McMullen nodded.

‘I need to find out what’s going on,’ said Carr. ‘Stay here and cover my arse, okay?’

Before McMullen could even respond, Carr was moving. He went as quickly as he could, using the darkness and cover to get into a position from where he could observe.

Half a minute later, he was lying prone behind a small scrub bush, watching the motorcycle rider resting casually against his bike, forty or so metres away.

The Judas gate was open, and the guy who had been walking around the compound was standing outside, leaning against the wall, smoking, saying nothing.

Clearly, they were waiting for someone.

And then another man appeared at the gate and stepped through.

A man Carr had seen once before, on a beach in Marbella.

A man with dark eyes, and a limp, and the blood of many men, women and children on his hands.

Argun Shishani.

Carr was a hundred per cent certain.

It was that unmistakable gait that gave him away, the rolling limp as much a positive ID as if Carr had been staring directly into his face.

‘You fucking cunt,’ he breathed, the anger welling up from deep in his soul.

He was momentarily transported back to that beach in Marbella… his son and daughter next to him, the sea, the little children playing in the sand – and the man with the dark eyes and the hole in his leg looking casually at Carr and then beyond, at his targets.