‘I’d want the normal stuff – which areas are active and which are quiet, who controls what. Hopefully, your intelligence will allow us to move around main concentrations of militia groups, military, blah blah. If we get a chance encounter, then we’ll just have to deal with it as it appears in front of us.’

‘Whatever we have, it’s yours.’

‘And then there’s the kit.’ Carr looked at him. ‘Who’s funding this?’

‘The PM’s family.’

‘Because if I get involved – and it’s still a big if – this is going to fucking sting.’

‘I appreciate that.’

Carr nodded.

‘Okay,’ he said, downing his scotch. ‘I’m happy with the fee. Next thing is I need to see if I can find three fuckers who are crazy enough to tag along. Give me twenty-four hours.’

Chapter 59.

59.

AS SOON AS Justin Nicholls had left, Carr poured himself another scotch and sat down with a notepad and pen.

It didn’t take long to draw up a shortlist of a dozen or so ex-SAS men he knew from his nineteen years in the Regiment who might be interested in doing the job and who fit his bill.

He wanted guys he’d worked with before – fit, resourceful blokes, with a good selection of patrol skills, whom he knew he could trust with his life. That went without saying. Beyond that, he needed at least one who was good with engines. The temperatures and terrain in the Sahara were going to put major strains on their vehicles, and a proper mechanic was vital.

Eventually, he put down his pen, picked up his mobile and dialled the first name he’d written down.

Dave ‘Geordie’ Skelton was his closest and oldest mate from the Regiment. They had passed Selection together and had fought side-by-side across Northern Ireland, the Middle East, Africa, the Balkans, and in other places where the SAS’s involvement went unrecorded.

More than once, he’d saved John Carr’s life, and Carr had been able to return the favour more than once, too.

He was one of a small number of men with whom Carr would gladly have stepped through the gates of hell. The feeling, he knew, was mutual.

After what seemed like forever, the big Tynesider picked up his phone.

‘Geordie,’ said Carr. ‘It’s JC. Listen, how do you fancy a week or two in the sun? And don’t worry, you tight bastard, it’s on me, all expenses paid.’

‘What sort of work, man?’ said Skelton.

‘Right up your street.’

‘Will I get to kill any bad bastards?’

‘Yes, my friend, you certainly will.’

A few moments later, Carr had ticked the big northerner’s name off on his shortlist, confirmed that the team would RV at his house in Herefordshire as soon as they were on board, and was making his second call.

Halfway through, Daisy from downstairs knocked on his door.

Chapter 60.

60.