Björn reached the top floor. Six and Eight were behind him, with La Bruja behind them.

He turned to her. “Can we get down from the roof?”

“You can get from this one to the one behind it,” she said. “And then the one behind that. There’s a fire escape. We can use that.”

Björn turned back to the door that opened out onto the roof. He readied the X95, holding the bullpup’s foregrip in his left hand as he took his right hand away from the trigger and reached for the door handle. He tried it; it was locked.

He took a step back, braced his standing leg and then drove his boot at the spot on the door that was just below the handle. The lock fell apart, the door flew open, and Björn aimed out onto the roof, immediately sighting the four soldiers who were positioned around the skylights, their weapons pointed down into the room below.

Björn fired, four fully automatic three-round bursts, aiming first at the man who was nearest to him and then cycling to the second, third and fourth. Each volley found its mark; the first man toppled forward, plunging through the glass and disappearing into the space below; the second man tumbled over the edge towards the street, and the remaining two collapsed onto the roof.

He led the way, following the roof to the south to where the adjacent building abutted against it. The roof of that building was higher, with an additional storey to negotiate in order to reach it, but there was an air-conditioning unit that was close enough to act as a step. Björn climbed onto it and then hauled himself up, scanning to ensure that the roof was clear—it was—and then turning back to help hoist La Bruja up with him. She wasn’t heavy and he was easily able to pull her after him.

Six and Eight hopped from the air conditioner to the roof. Björn assessed the way ahead. This roof was thirty feet from one side to the other, and then there was a drop to the roof of the building beyond it. Björn set off, the bullpup held in both hands as he crossed from one side to the other. The lights of the city were visible to the left, the slope of the hill ending in the dark slash of the river. He knew it was going to be challenging to get away from the neighbourhood. The assaulters had been well organised and generously armed and, if Björn had been asked to guess, he would have ventured that they belonged to the urban anti-terrorist force. He doubted whether a significant number of men could have been put into the field in the time between their location being compromised and now. A platoon, perhaps? Surely no more than that.

They would soon find out.