Fox bent down, turned him over, and winced at the smashed face.

“What the fuck, Lanky? This your work? This is the Red Cross!”

Lanky grinned and shrugged.

“Red my arse. He’s Ukrainian security services, SBU. You want me to give him a pat on the head?”

“Where the fuck did you get that idea?”

“This fucker had pictures on his phone of their beloved yellow-and-blue Ukrainian flag. Look for yourself.”

“You fucked up, Lanky. All they told you to do was question them! Where are the others?”

He nodded towards the next plastic sheet screen.

Fox turned his gaze there in dismay and then again at the bloodied man on the floor.

K. came closer and crouched. He turned to his escorts.

“Call an ambulance. And you, bring me a first aid kit.”

“What first aid kit?”

“By the entrance upstairs, where they were handing in the weapons. And there should be one in the APC too.”

K. inhaled and exhaled slowly to relax his breathing. Gently lifting the man up by the shoulder, he tilted back his forehead and teased down his jaw. The man wheezed, desperately trying to take in breath. Blood poured from his broken nose.

Fox stood to the side and didn’t interfere. K. patted his pockets and found a paper tissue. He wrapped it around his forefinger and middle finger and stuck them down the man’s throat. After some groping, he flicked out a tooth that rolled onto the floor.

“Hullo? Hullo?” one of the soldiers repeated loudly into the telephone. “To the O.D.A . . . or is it O.G.A . . .? Oh, for heaven’s sake, the administration building, you know the one!”

The wounded man was breathing now. His neck muscles were tense and his pulse weak. K. placed his hand over the man’s stomach and counted the breaths. The lightbulbs were dim, so he pulled out his phone and used its flashlight to examine the man’s head, shoulders, chest and limbs for more wounds.

“What?” asked the soldier on the phone and turned to K.: “They want to know what he’s got.”

“Suspected intracranial haemorrhage.”

“Huh?”

“Just say serious head injury!” barked K.

“Serious head injury,” the soldier shouted into the phone.

The man opened his swollen eyes and looked straight at K. The glint of helpless hatred sent a chill down K.’s spine.

“An ambulance is on its way,” he said quietly.

At that moment, Lanky seized upon the fact nobody was looking, kicked the wounded man in the leg, and grinned maliciously.

“What did you come here for, cunt? Why did you come into my home?”

Fox bundled him angrily towards the corner of the room and pinned him to the wall.

“Will you cool it!”

Lanky swung his legs shouting, trying to get away. One of the soldiers returned with a first aid kit. K. opened it and unfurled two bits of dressing. He rolled up a pair of cotton swabs and stuffed them up the wounded man’s nose. He put dressing on the bleeding head wound and fastened the bandage under the man’s chin and over his crown. He exhaled and stood up.