Forrest keyed the pressel on his radio and uttered the words which had launched a thousand assaults.

‘Standby, standby… Go!’

There were two deafening explosions, instantly followed by the wailing of car alarms activated by the pressure wave from the breach charges, and the assault teams were in.

From where Carr stood, he could hear the immediate crackle of small arms fire coming from inside the villa.

He fought the temptation to ask questions on the radio, to find out what was going on; the teams had to be allowed to get on with their task with no interruption.

Instead, he turned to speak to Evan Forrest, and it was at that moment that gunfire erupted from a building directly opposite the target.

It was wild and high, and the assault team at whom it was directed were able to take cover inside the walled compound of the grey villa.

Carr watched as they began returning fire.

‘Fucking amateur,’ said Geordie, and he was right – the gunman had fired two long bursts, the first of which had illuminated his position in one of the upstairs rooms, the second of which confirmed he had not changed his position.

But this was still very much not ideal: a number of Carr’s men were now engaged in a firefight inside and outside the target.

He made a quick decision. The team outside was Delta 18 Charlie, led by Steve Smith. Steve was a good man, and full of balls, and that meant that in a matter of moments he’d be over the wall and rushing across the street to take out the shooter.

That was not the best way to deal with this threat.

Carr keyed his mike. ‘Steve, it’s John,’ he said, calmly. ‘Stay put, mate, and keep suppressing that house. We’re in a blind spot to them so I’m going in round the back. Okay?’

Smith’s reply came back a moment later. ‘Okay, John, got it. I think there’s at least three shooters in there.’

‘Noted, mate,’ said Carr. ‘Moving shortly.’

He turned to the small group he was with. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Evan, you stay here with the scaley and Jedd, okay? Me, Wayne and Geordie are going to take them fuckers out.’

The OC nodded.

‘You watch your back round here, Evan,’ said Carr. ‘Geordie, ready? Wayne, ready?’

Rooney nodded. ‘Ready, John,’ he said, the effort to use Carr’s first name written all over his face.

Carr grinned. ‘Good man. Right, let’s go.’ He pressed his transmit button. ‘Moving, Steve.’

Smith acknowledged.

Carr led Geordie Skelton and Wayne Rooney into the alley behind the shooters’ house, until they were level with it. As they reached a rear gate, in the shadow of an eight-foot back wall, he stopped.

A sound, from the other side of the wall – low voices, and the click-clack of weapons being cocked.