‘No,’ said McMullen, firmly. ‘It’s because of the people who took you. Fred knew the score, and accepted the risk. He died knowing we’d succeeded. That’s good enough.’

Outside, Carr closed the rear door of his truck and looked at Geordie.

‘Start your engine, mate,’ he said. ‘Me and Kev’ll lead.’

He walked over to McMullen. ‘You okay?’ he said.

‘Yeah, sure,’ said McMullen. ‘Gutted about Fred, but we can worry about that later. You?’

‘I’ve taken a bit of shrapnel to the arse,’ said Carr, with a grin. ‘It’s going to make driving through the desert very fucking enjoyable, but I’ll live.’

‘Want me to have a butcher’s at it?’

‘Any excuse mate, eh?’

McMullen chuckled. ‘Suit yourself.’

‘Maybe when we get clear,’ said Carr. ‘I want to get at least ten klicks south. If there’s no follow-up we can stop for a minute, and you can treat yourself to a look at my arse, and see if there’s anything more we can do for your man in there.’

‘He might not make it ten klicks.’

‘Shit happens,’ said Carr. ‘But we’re going to give him a chance.’

They set off into the stony desert, heading due south.

Seven or eight minutes and ten kilometres later, with no sign of any pursuit, Carr instructed Kevin McMullen to pull into the bottom of a small wadi and stop.

McMullen was quickly out and examining Mahsoud.

The seat and his trousers were both wet with blood, and his radial pulse was very weak.

‘I reckon he’s still fucking bleeding,’ said McMullen. ‘What was his pulse like before?’

Carr leaned in and grabbed Mahsoud’s wrist.

‘Not great,’ he said. ‘But it was stronger than that.’ He paused for a moment, still feeling the wrist. ‘Hold on,’ he said. ‘I’ve lost it altogether, now.’

McMullen pushed his hand away and took hold of Mahsoud’s wrist himself.

He couldn’t find a pulse, either.

‘Shit,’ he said. ‘The artery must be damaged. Help me get him out so I can have a look.’

The two men laid Zeff Mahsoud out on the ground, and Kevin McMullen knelt over him.

‘Give me some light,’ he said.

Skelton shone a torch onto Mahsoud’s upper leg.

Despite the tourniquet, arterial blood was still oozing from the wound.

‘Bang some fluids into him,’ said Skelton.

‘Nah,’ said McMullen. ‘Not till I sort out the artery. If I give him any fluid before that it’ll just piss straight out of him. I need to get inside the leg and clamp it first.’

He took his knife and cut away the top of Mahsoud’s trousers, exposing the bloody entry hole.

He took out his water bottle and poured it over the wound. His hands were filthy, but he had no choice. He pushed two fingers and a thumb into the wound.

Mahsoud didn’t respond.