‘We’re the only backup.’

‘What the hell were they playing at?’

‘Soldiers.’ Itchy rolled on his side and glanced at Silva. ‘Only you don’t, do you? Play at it?’

‘No.’

Now Taher was waving his gun at the two men, forcing them over to the edge of the veranda. They both knelt, the older man falling on his face before Taher pulled him up. Karen Hope advanced into view. She held a pistol with both hands and took up a position behind the old guy, raising the weapon to the man’s head. Through the scope Silva could see Hope’s arm muscles tense.

‘Silva!’ Itchy shouted, and Silva was aware of him scrabbling for his own pistol, useless at this range. ‘We’ve got to do something!’

And then, for the briefest moment, the world dissolved away and Silva was gone, floating somewhere above the ravine and the house as if she was viewing an aerial photograph. As if she was in the heavens looking down. As if she was God.

Ever since Fairchild had come up with the plan to kill Karen Hope, Silva had wondered if she’d be able to pull the trigger when the moment came. In Positano she’d been so close, but circumstances had intervened. Here, they’d waited and waited. Still she’d been unsure. Now, though, there was no time to ponder or prevaricate. Whether her mother approved or not, whether Karen Hope deserved death or not, was irrelevant. The decision had been made for her. There was a second, perhaps two, and then the old man would die. The only person who could prevent that was Rebecca da Silva.

She was back on the ground, the hard rock under her body, the rifle in her hands. There was no time for composure, for steadying her breathing, for recalculating the ballistics in her head, for making a final adjustment to the scope. There was only time to move the rifle a fraction so Karen Hope was lined up in the reticle. If she missed, likely she’d hit the old man and he’d die anyway.

Which meant she couldn’t miss.

‘Silva!’ This time Itchy’s voice came distorted, as if in slow motion. ‘Now!’

Hope stepped forward, both arms outstretched, the gun pushed hard against the old man’s head. There was a look of utter determination on her face, and in that instant Silva realised this woman craved absolute power like a drug.

Silva touched the trigger.

The bullet took approximately half a second to reach Karen Hope. In that time she’d moved slightly and, although Silva couldn’t see it, Hope’s forefinger had already begun to squeeze the trigger on her own gun.