‘Major Ivanov, commander of Tiger Force, big operational experience in this region.’

‘It’s possible,’ Dick agreed. ‘I’ll check it out and let you know.’ Then he added, ‘We’ve made one bit of progress. The Turks have cleared us to use Kars as our FMB.’

‘Brilliant.’

I went into the kitchen and put the kettle on, then went back on the Satcom to Hereford. This time I got the CO, and outlined my scheme. ‘The recce party needs to include a Russian,’ I emphasised. ‘If we bump into anyone on the ground and can’t communicate, we’re buggered. The ideal guy’s Sasha Ivanov, our contact here. He’s a hundred per cent on side, and I’ve got to know him pretty well.’

The CO must have already been discussing my idea with Dick, because he agreed at once. ‘Don’t get carried away, though,’ he warned.

‘Has the squadron left yet?’

‘No – they’re going in about an hour. You’d better have a word with Pat Newman. He’s right here.’

Pat Newman, leader of the HALO team, was an old mate. ‘Hi, Geordie!’ he said. ‘Stirring it up again, I hear.’

‘Just a bit. Great to hear you, Pat. Listen. I’ve been looking at the map. The best way to hack this is for me and my Russian colleague Sasha to meet you at Kars. I’m going to need a full patrol kit and a tandem rig. Can you make sure it’s all brought out?’

‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I know the score. I’ve been fully briefed. Your kit’ll be on board. Just tell the SQMS what you want.’

‘OK, then. Put me over, please.’

The squadron quartermaster sergeant was Larry Tompkins, another good friend. ‘Listen, Larry,’ I said, ‘can you get your finger out?’

‘Might be able to. Why?’

I ran through a list of what we needed: tandem rig chute, two free-fall suits, two oxygen sets working off one cylinder, harness and clips for attaching Sasha to me, GPS, Satcom phone, camcorder and lap-top computer for videoing the site, kite-sight, binos . . . ‘And Larry,’ I ended, ‘those suits. Medium will do for me, but the guy I’m taking in’s a big lad. Six one at least, and broad with it. We need a large for him.’

‘Got it,’ said Larry. ‘We’re pulling the stuff out already.’

‘Thanks.’

I went back to Pat and asked, ‘How about timings?’

‘Depart Lyneham 0530 . . .’ I could tell he was doing calculations on a sheet of paper – a habit of his. ‘Six hours thirty to Cyprus. Akrotiri at 1200 – that’s 1500 local. Ninety minutes to change crews and refuel. Take off for Kars 1630 local. Two hours twenty, approx. Into Kars by 1900 local.’

‘So if Sasha can get me and him to Kars by then, the recce can go down tonight?’

‘Yes – it’ll have to.’

‘And the squadron assault the night after.’

‘Exactly.’