A second later, he stepped back along the wall, flattened himself, and looked across at Kev, who had his weapon up and was ready to go.

There was no time for niceties.

Carr connected the end of the wire to his clacker, flicked the safety off with his thumb, gripped the device in his hand, and began to squeeze it shut.

Chapter 98.

98.

INSIDE THE ROOM, things had happened very quickly as soon as the gunfire sounded.

The older guard had woken up, and was looking, groggily, at the door, and reaching for his weapon.

The younger guard was frantically trying to fit his oily AK back together, and shouting, ‘Adlan! Adlan! What’s happening out there?’

Charlotte Morgan’s heart felt as though it was about to burst from her chest – even Martha was sitting up, eyes wide, her mouth moving, but no sound coming from it.

The younger man, his hands shaking, finally managed to replace the bolt carrier and piston, and now he pushed them all the way forward.

Cursing under his breath, he picked up the carrier spring and inserted it, under tension, into the rear of the bolt carrier.

He thought he had it aligned, but as he took his hand away the spring shot back out and down onto the dusty floor.

Scrabbling for the spring, he heard movement at the door.

‘Adlan?’ he shouted. ‘Adlan?’

But still there was no reply, and now he felt cold terror grip his heart.

He dropped the AK and turned towards the older man.

‘What do we do?’ he shouted. ‘Adlan isn’t replying.’

The older man looked at him. He was a Libyan, a former sergeant in Gaddafi’s Revolutionary Guard Corps special forces unit, and he was tired of the young Chechen blowhard’s casual lack of respect.

The Chechens – they all thought they were better.

‘Adlan’s dead,’ he said, flatly. ‘Put your vest on. This is our time.’

The younger man just stared at him, his brain scrambled by fatigue and shock.

The old man raised his own AK.

‘I said, put the fucking vest on, you young fool,’ he spat.

With that, he fired a burst through the door – fourteen rounds, in a little over a second.

The noise was deafening, but the effect zero: Carr and McMullen had trained for this, and were expecting it, so they were standing well to the sides.

Five seconds after the outside guard had died, with the panicked shouting of men coming from inside the servants’ quarters, Carr depressed his clacker.

The remnants of the door blew inwards, showering those inside with bits of wood and dust, and momentarily stupefying them.

McMullen pushed straight through the opening, moving to his left, weapon into his shoulder.

His mind was working at light-speed, fired by a potent cocktail of adrenalin, cortisol, and testosterone.

He took in and processed his arc in half a second or so.