‘What about the course?’ I said. ‘It’s an EMOE day, isn’t it? You can sort them on that, Pav. Wait a minute, though. Sasha – are you planning to use some of the students on this?’

‘Konechno. You have teached them well.’

‘They’re only half-trained at the minute . . .’

‘All the same, it is best. We want to make attack quickly.’

At the back of my mind I heard the voice of the CO in Hereford, warning me that on no account should we get involved with any live operation. And I heard myself solemnly promising that we’d steer well clear. Then I thought, Ah, bollocks! Easy to say that from a distance. Still, I’d told the boss we’d keep our hands clean . . .

But I heard myself saying, ‘OK, we’ll come.’

With a big smile Sasha went, ‘Zdorovo! Breelliant!’

‘How many guys d’you need?’

‘You say.’

‘Two teams of four? That means Whinger, myself and six more. You choose them.’

‘I do that now. You and Vuinzha, please prepare immediately. It is important you start planning.’

‘What about Anna? Does she know about this?’

‘She’s in control room already.’

The time was 6.40 a.m.

Pavarotti had gone off to the washroom in disgust, and was shaving when I poked my head round the door. ‘Sorry, mate,’ I told him, ‘we’re going to have a crack at it. You’ll have to take charge of the course today.’

‘You’re nuts, Geordie.’

‘I dunno. All good for international relations.’

In the kitchen the lads already had a brew on, so Whinger and I got some tea and a piece of bread down us, picked up our personal weapons and a few bits and pieces, and were ready for the off.

Sasha had come in some different car, newer and more powerful than either of ours, with a driver in DPMs. We piled in and set off at speed through the dawn, first towards the city centre, then right-handed into the northern suburbs, crossing one main thoroughfare after another. In less than quarter of an hour we were pulling up at the gate of another barracks, where the sentry took one look at Sasha’s card and whipped up the barrier pole. Next stop was a briefing room full of men in black Omon uniform, grouped round a large-scale plan spread out on a table.

At first I thought the guys from the course must have moved like shit off a shovel, because they were there ahead of us. Then I realised that Sasha had probably detailed them already, before speaking to us. I recognised Sergei Tri, Volodya, and one other. As we entered there was a bit of muttering in Russian, and a few smiles were beamed in our direction.