They reached the main building. A low wall ran from the building and ancient olive trees stood behind the wall in a small grove. Itchy jerked his gun in the direction of the grove.

Silva nodded. There was an opening in the wall and they could cross the grove and get to the veranda without having to go into the house.

They went through the opening and crept along the wall to where a series of steps led upwards. When they reached the steps they stopped again. Still no sound. Silva held out her arm. She’d go first, Itchy would cover.

She eased up the steps and onto the veranda. Karen Hope lay in the centre. She’d fallen backwards, her right leg contorted beneath her, the left stuck out at a weird angle. One hand clamped the pistol tight while the other hand had risen to her chin, a finger gracing her lower lip as if she was attempting to wipe away a morsel of food. The upper part of her face round the right eye had gone. Everything from there backwards had been ripped apart by the bullet. She was dead all right.

Silva paused for a moment, but she was still pumped. This wasn’t the time for reflection. She moved to the edge of the veranda and looked over. Bare earth and some olive leaves that had been knocked off when the two men had fallen. She swung back to the house where an arch led into the building proper. No door, just a dark shadow.

‘I’ll go first.’ Itchy had his hand on Silva’s shoulder. ‘You stay back.’

Itchy moved along the veranda towards the arch while Silva checked nobody was sneaking up behind them, before they slipped into the relative cool of the house. After the brightness outside, the interior was like ink. She slid her feet across the tiled floor and turned a corner. Ahead Itchy was waiting in another doorway, light flooding through from some sort of central courtyard behind him. As Silva approached, he held out a clenched fist, thumb down.

Enemy spotted…

Itchy pointed to the upper storey where a series of windows overlooked the courtyard. A shadow passed across one opening and then another. Itchy placed his hand in front of his face and pointed to the right of the door where a corridor ran parallel.

Form ambush…

Martin ‘Harry’ Palmer walked down the corridor towards them. Taher’s AK-47 was cradled in his arms, the finger of his right hand on the trigger. Holm stepped back, aware of his damp shirt, the sweat cold and clammy on his back.

Palmer. Harry bloody Palmer.