When I tried to go through to Kars, my anxiety rose a notch. No response. I suspected the blizzard was to blame, and that the snow was blocking contact with the satellite. Comms are notoriously fickle. They go up and down, and often there seems no reason. I fiddled with the dish aerial, turning it this way and that, and then moved out of my lair on to a more prominent site. Still no contact. I tried again and again, to no avail.

Lying on my front, I realised how the snow was blotting out every sound. Work on the fence, which had been proceeding intermittently, seemed to have stopped completely, and a heavy silence lay over the compound.

Then I heard a noise of an engine, labouring up the hill from the barrack area. Presently it came into view – a mid-grey, square-bodied truck with big snow tyres, weaving slightly as it slithered over the snow. The driver swung up on to the flat area outside the summer-house, crunched into reverse and backed to within two or three yards of the doors.

He and another man jumped out, and one of them opened the truck’s rear door to release a third. All were wearing dark green overalls and brown fur caps with ear-flaps tied up over the crowns. The driver produced some keys, unlocked the doors of the shed and slid them back. A minute later, out came all three, lugging, between them, one of the components of Orange.

Snow or no snow, there was no chance of me making a mistake – the men were only sixty metres from me, and through the glasses I could see those orange markings perfectly. The sight set my adrenalin racing. Again I had to fight down my instinct to make a direct intervention. A 203 grenade into the front of the van would rearrange Akula’s plans pretty swiftly. But, again, that might mean the end for Pav and Toad.

The three men went back in and brought out the second half. I snatched up the Satcom receiver and switched on. Nothing. Again – nothing.

Shit! The bomb was about to disappear, and I couldn’t report it.

The men locked the shed, slammed the doors of their truck and climbed aboard. I watched helplessly as the driver started up and drove off downhill, nosing his way carefully through the bends. By now the snow was falling so fast that, even as I watched, the vehicle’s tracks were becoming blurred. In a few minutes they’d be obliterated altogether.

In spite of my anxiety, I realised that what had happened carried one small advantage: now, if the HALO drop did come in as planned, Sasha wouldn’t see the bomb, and wouldn’t know anything about it.