Carr knew that he couldn’t just sprint onto the sand, because that would get him killed, and if he was killed he couldn’t help Alice.

But he needed to get eyes-on in order to formulate a plan.

To his left, George was staring at him, his own eyes wide with shock.

He’d joined the Parachute Regiment just after the Afghan draw-down.

He was fit and strong, and no doubt he was brave and well-trained, too.

But he was not tested, not hardened and tempered by battle.

And you never know how you’ll react in a contact until it happens.

For an instant, Carr saw him not as the young man he was, but as the child he’d been.

He was on the verge of telling his son to run and hide, to stay safe, when – as if reading his old man’s mind – George spoke.

‘Wherever you’re going,’ he said, ‘I’m coming with you.’

In that moment, Carr saw a soldier in front of him.

He knew he stood a better chance with some help.

‘Okay, son,’ he said. ‘But you listen to everything I say, understand? No rushing off. You stick by me.’

George nodded.

Then two police officers came into view, running, heads down, terrified, away from the shooting.

Father looked at son.

‘Those two,’ he said. ‘If they’re not going to use their weapons, we will.’

21.

THEY STOOD IN THE street, against the flow of fleeing holidaymakers, and clotheslined the two cops as they sprinted by.

‘Lo siento, señor,’ said Carr. ‘But I need your pistol.’

The man just stared up at him and said nothing.

It was a look that Carr had seen many times before – notably in Bosnia, when the line was broken around Goražde and the men of the BIH were scrambling for the safety of the town, with only one thought in their minds: Please let me survive another day, and I’ll worry about tomorrow… tomorrow.

Carr stood up. Next to him stood George, pistol in hand, an unconscious policeman at his feet, his jaw broken.

Carr looked at the weapon.

Heckler & Koch USP.

Made himself take another moment.

No point charging onto the sand with an empty pistol, either.

Dropped the mag out.

Pushed on the top round.

It moved downward only slightly, indicating that the magazine was full.

Hadn’t even been fired.

Carr replaced the magazine, pulled the topslide back slightly, to double-check that a round was in the breech, and tapped the slide forward to rehouse the round.

Ready to go.

He looked at George, who had copied him.

‘Used one of these before?’ he said.

‘No, we’re on the Glock 17.’

‘Same principle. Safety’s here. How many rounds have you got?’

‘Full clip.’

‘Take the spare mags, too. Fifteen rounds of nine millimetre in each one. Make sure you count your shots. And get as close as you can.’

George nodded.

Flinched at the rate of fire coming from the beach.

Looked down at the peashooter in his hand.