Now the team had the farmhouse encircled. When the word was given, they would rush the place, breaking the door down with a hydraulic ram. Petra had the plan off by heart. First the smoke, then the tear gas, then the men would pour in. The primary objective was to secure the child, the secondary objective to capture Arkady Matic and his wife. Petra was to wait in the lane with the commander of the unit, only approaching once those objectives had been secured.

The commander was standing over his communications specialist. ‘Where are we up to?’ he asked.

‘They’re talking in the kitchen. One adult male, one adult female. The child is there too. The woman just told her to sit at the table. They’re about to eat dinner.’

‘Good. We’ll wait till they’re sitting down, then we’ll move in.’ He turned to Petra. ‘We want the minimum of fuss, so we’ll go in when they’re occupied with their food.’

She nodded agreement. ‘The last thing we want is a hostage situation.’

‘Quite,’ he said briskly, the fingers of one hand beating a tattoo against his thigh. ‘God, I hate the waiting game.’

They stood in tense silence for a long couple of minutes, then the comms specialist gave the thumbs-up sign. ‘The woman’s dishing up dinner … She’s sitting down and joining them. Yes, they’re all there.’

The commander grabbed his radio. ‘This is K-one to all units. Move in. Repeat, move in.’ He gestured to Petra to follow him and they jogged the twenty yards to the farm gate. Moving shadows flickered around the house, caught in the soft light from curtained windows. Suddenly the night was split open by the crash of the ram against the solid wooden door, and cries of, ‘Armed police, freeze!’ filled the air.

The crunch of splintering wood reached them on the faint night breeze, then the soft crump of smoke grenades and the rattle of gas canisters against a hard surface. Muffled shouts followed, then the sound that Petra had dreaded. The boom of a single gunshot rang out. Horrified, she turned to the commander.

‘Shotgun,’ he said laconically.

There followed the sudden chatter of automatic fire. Then silence. ‘What’s going on?’ Petra cried.

‘I’d guess the farmer got a shot off before one of ours took him down. Don’t worry, it’s not turning into a fire fight.’ His radio crackled and he raised it to his ear. Petra couldn’t distinguish the words, only an excited jabber. ‘I’ll be right there,’ he said. He clapped her on the shoulder. ‘Come on, it’s all over. They’ve got the girl.’