I squeezed past the colossal back wheel of the tractor. Looked down at the man from the train, laid on his side in the middle of the road, blood leaking like jam from the crater in the side of his head. One of his legs was stuck out at a gory angle. His lips were moving but no sound was coming out.

‘He must have been doing seventy!’ sobbed the man from the tractor. ‘I didn’t see him. Christ, he’s going to die, I know he’s going to die.’

I put a hand on his arm. Made him look at me. ‘You have a phone?’

He nodded. ‘I shouted for the wife to ring.’

‘Go and make sure. I’ll stay with him. Sometimes these things aren’t as bad as they look.’

He looked at me with eyes so grateful that I nearly wept for him. ‘Will I get in trouble?’ he asked, investing me with a level of authority. He didn’t ask who I was and where I’d been going but he wanted to know if everything would be OK.

‘It wasn’t your fault,’ I said. ‘I saw what happened. You couldn’t have done anything.’

He gave a grateful nod and then hurried away towards the open gates of the farmhouse. A moment later I was alone, squatting down beside the man from the train. I put my face in his line of sight but he didn’t respond, just kept moving his lips and making horrible little fluttering noises. I went through his pockets. He had a Heckler and Koch P7 9 mm handgun in a soft leather shoulder holster. I took it. His wallet contained nearly forty pounds and a driving licence in the name of Alexander Ross. His inside pocket bulged a little. Inside I found a radio. It was service-issue, switched on, red light blinking away.

I didn’t know what to think so I didn’t think anything at all. Just left him there and walked back to the mangled remains of his car. It was a Mercedes W123 200 and still smelled new. The inside was a mess of loose documents and shards of glass. I opened the back door and scooped up handfuls of shiny white paper. There wasn’t much light but I could make out enough. This was my personnel file.

I took everything. Took the key from the mangled ignition and opened the boot. Two cases, service-issue. A long black case and a larger, boxy unit. I unclipped the latches. The camera was state-of-the-art, with a night-vision scope and built-in microphone that could pick up a conversation at 300 yards. The rectangular box contained a Walther WA 2000 sniper rifle and scope. I took both cases. Hefted them back to the car and climbed back into the passenger seat, shuffling across to the driving position and leaving both boxes on the seat beside me.