‘Depends how badly the Prime Minister wants her daughter back,’ said Carr. He scratched his chin, and suddenly realised how tired, hungry and thirsty he was. ‘Listen, you stag on here. I’ll let them know the state of play, and me and Kev will sort Fred and get a brew on. Keep your eyes peeled.’

‘Aye, man.’

Carr returned to his Hilux.

Kevin McMullen was crouched inside, checking on Zeff Mahsoud.

‘How’s he doing?’ said Carr.

‘Same as,’ said McMullen. ‘Still got a pulse, but it’s weak.’

‘Had a look at the girls?’

‘Yeah. I gave them some water and Imodium to help with the shits, and some sweets for a bit of energy. I’ve put a couple of roll mats down for them, and got them in their maggots.’

Carr nodded. ‘Give me a hand with Fred, eh?’

‘Yep.’

The two men walked to Geordie Skelton’s vehicle.

Fred West was slumped in the front seat, his shirt stained with dried blood.

Kev McMullen lifted his friend’s head to look at the wound that had taken his life.

There was an almost invisible entry hole in the left-hand side of his neck, where a minute sliver of steel from the RPG had hit him.

It would have been no bigger than a fingernail, but that was all it took. Both McMullen and Carr had known men who had survived multiple gunshot wounds, traumatic amputations, horrendous burns, and others who had been killed by a single tiny piece of shrapnel just like this.

It was the luck of the draw, and Fred – the happy gambler – had finally been dealt a shit hand.

Carr unclipped him, and the two men lifted his body from the Hilux and laid him gently down into a body bag.

They zipped it closed, and then stood looking at it for a moment.

McMullen glanced at Carr.

‘I was convinced it was going to be me,’ he said.

Carr smiled. ‘You don’t say?’ he said. ‘You hid it well.’

McMullen did not return the smile. ‘Fucking Fred,’ he said. ‘I passed Selection with him. He saved my life in Afghan. He was my best man. Fuck me.’

‘Could have been any of us,’ said Carr. ‘He knew it could happen.’

McMullen looked over, longer this time. ‘Christ, John,’ he said. ‘He was a friend. He was your friend.’

‘We’ve all lost friends, Kev,’ said Carr. ‘We aren’t pressed men, are we? We all volunteered for this.’

‘You’re a hard bastard,’ said McMullen, shaking his head.

Carr didn’t speak for a while.