‘So look at your charts,’ said Kadyrov. He turned to Shishani, and rolled his eyes.

The skipper bent his head over the table in the tiny bridge.

‘To Tabarka, from where we are now, is approximately three hundred nautical miles,’ he said.

Kadyrov waved his hand, dismissively. ‘I don’t know this measurement,’ he said. ‘Tell me in kilometres.’

The skipper closed his eyes as he did the mental arithmetic. ‘About five hundred and fifty kilometres,’ he said.

‘And to Al Khums?’

‘Three times the distance.’

‘At your boat’s top speed, how long to get there?’

‘I could push it a little. We’re currently doing between ten and eleven knots. I can make fourteen. Fourteen knots makes it…’ He closed his eyes again. ‘Three days. Two-and-a-half at best.’

Kadyrov looked at him. ‘You have the fuel?’

‘Yes.’

‘And food?’

‘Enough.’

‘So what is the problem?’

‘Well, the crew.’

‘It is not enough for them that they are engaged in striking the biggest blow against the West since Osama hit New York?’ said Kadyrov, jovially.

‘Well, I…’

‘Listen, brother,’ said the Chechen. ‘I will pay you one thousand US dollars per man, for six extra days. Three days there with us, and three days back to here without us. You and your three men – that makes twenty-four thousand dollars. In fact, I will round it up to twenty-five thousand.’

The skipper’s demeanour brightened considerably.

His men were on three hundred dollars each for the entire month, and would do as he told them.

So that extra money would go into his own pocket, and stay there.

‘I think we can do it,’ he said.

‘Good man,’ said Kadyrov, with a wolfish grin. He leaned over and ruffled the skipper’s hair. ‘If you had refused I was going to gut you and throw you overboard.’

‘To sleep with the fishes,’ said Shishani.

‘Yes,’ said Kadyrov, with a deep laugh. ‘To sleep with the fishes.’

The skipper almost burst into tears in his fright.

‘Go and make us some chai, and then come back and unrig the wheel,’ said the bearded giant.

The skipper managed a nod before scurrying off.

‘Not all men are made as we are, brother,’ said Shishani, as he watched him go.

‘Indeed not,’ said Kadyrov, pulling at his beard. ‘God made the lamb as He made the lion.’

‘It’s a shame that he and his crew must die, also.’

‘It is a shame. But we must roll up the carpet behind us. Any thread we leave will be unpicked by the Americans and the British.’

Shishani nodded.

‘It’s good,’ he said. ‘This new plan. I like it.’

‘Yes. We still run them in on an inflatable – once again, the sea will be our friend. Bin Salah can identify the precise new landing spot and collect us offshore.’

46.

A COUPLE OF HOURS later, an encrypted telephone rang on a desk in the Pakistan Section in the headquarters of the Secret Intelligence Service in London.

A woman picked it up.