Four shots, two double-taps fired in less than a second, hit Khasmohmad Kadyrov in the chest, pushing him backwards and then over onto his arse as he stumbled, dropping his carbine.

Sighing, he fell back into the sandy earth.

Carr scrambled to his feet, holstered the pistol, and picked up his Diemaco.

He walked purposefully towards the man, who was struggling to push himself up with his left hand, and stretching towards the Krinkov.

His chest was covered in blood, and his breathing laboured, but there was a determination to him which Carr recognised, even admired.

He knew he was dead, but he was not giving up.

As his fingers scrabbled around the pistol grip, Carr stood on the weapon.

He looked down at the man.

‘You must be Kadyrov,’ he said.

Kadyrov looked back up at him.

Carr could almost feel the hate in his eyes.

‘Infidel,’ wheezed Kadyrov.

‘I may be an infidel, pal,’ said Carr, placing his barrel against the big Chechen’s forehead, ‘but I’m a fucking winner.’

He pulled the trigger.

Chapter 103.

103.

THE MAN WHO had fired the pistol shots lay on the ground, looking up at Carr.

Carr fought the urge to check on Fred – he needed to establish who the fuck this new guy was, and that he posed no threat.

Kicking away the guy’s pistol, he trained his Diemaco on his face.

Pakistani, he thought, or Afghan, maybe.

Even in the strange light from the fuel fire, he could see the death pallor settling on the man.

He was holding his thigh with both hands, and blood was pumping out between his fingers, glistening thick and black in the flames.

His eyes were wide and vacant, and his breathing rapid and shallow.

Carr had seen the signs too often – unless this man got help, and quickly, he was dead.

Whether he got that help or not would depend on how the next few seconds went.

‘Who are you?’ said Carr.

The man whispered something.

‘What?’ said Carr, bending his head.

The man tried again, a little louder this time.

‘Zeff Mahsoud,’ he said. ‘SIS.’

‘What the fuck did you say?’ said Carr. ‘SIS?’

But the man had lapsed into unconsciousness.

The name he’d given sounded familiar, but Carr couldn’t put his finger on it, and as soon as the thought entered his head it was gone.

He laid down his Diemaco and quickly searched the man.

He was clean.

He picked up his wrist and felt for a radial pulse.

It was there – not as strong as it might have been, but it was there.

Carr stood up, picked up his weapon, and moved over to Fred.

He was lying face down, the sand wet with his blood.

Carr gently turned him over.

Fred’s eyes were open but empty, and his mouth slightly parted in what looked like surprise.