Then the bursts of fire died away. Single shots cracked out – one, two, three, four. I knew what they meant: the assaulters were using their pistols to pop rounds into the heads of their victims, making certain they were dead.

One more single shot, then silence – except for the wind.

‘Boris!’ I shouted. ‘Yestj?’

‘Da, da.’

‘Khorosho!’

I held in my pressel and called, ‘Red to Blue – all secure at your end?’

‘Blue,’ came Whinger’s voice. ‘Affirmative. All inner rooms secure.’

‘Red. Roger. This side secure also. You can come on through.’

Standing up, I walked in through the shattered window-door. The air in the living room was hot as hell and thick with cigarette smoke, shot through with the sharp reek of cordite. Something had caught fire, ignited by the stun grenade. The blaze wasn’t serious – just enough to give flickering illumination and light up the gory scene. The lights had gone down and for the time being I let it burn.

The Mafiosi must have been in conference round a rectangular table. Now, overturned chairs and five bodies lay all round it. Igor, crouched in the left-hand outer corner of the room, was still covering Nikolai as he scurried round checking each one. The door into the hallway was closed, so I went straight over and called through it, ‘Whinge?’

‘Yeah, yeah. We’re here.’

‘OK. I’m opening up.’ I turned the handle and pulled, to find the door was locked. Peering down, I saw the key was in the lock, spun it and pulled the door towards me. The two teams were safely reunited.

‘Red leader to Control,’ I called. ‘Target secure.’

‘Vas ponyal,’ went Anna. ‘Roger.’

‘Piece of cake!’ said Whinger. ‘What’s the Russian for that?’

‘I don’t know. How many have your guys taken out?’

‘Four. The bodyguards. Two in the passage, two more watching TV in the end bedroom. We got them as they came out the door.’ He flashed his torch into the bedroom doorway, and I saw two bodies lying across each other on the floor.

‘No casualties on your team?’

Whinger shook his head. ‘The stupid bastards never got a round off. The two outside were asleep on their chairs, and the others had left their main weapons in the hallway. There.’ He shone the beam on a little stack of sub-machine guns in a corner. ‘Didn’t even have time to draw their pistols.’

I found myself shaking with reaction. ‘Jesus!’ I said. ‘What happens now?’

After a hit of that kind in the UK, the assault teams would be instantly spirited away from the scene in a hostage reception van, and any prisoners would travel with them, to get the whole lot clear before any journalists or TV crew turned up. Then a quick-reaction force would move in and take over. The most important guy in the aftermath would be the SOCO, the scene-of-crimes officer, from the police. Until he arrived, the key rule was that nothing must be touched or moved.