'Totally out of their element.'

'Whatever Hazar is, it's not Wapping. Over there they are something, here they are nothing.'

'True.' Paul Rashid brooded. 'And Shabwa is ours?'

'Absolutely. Dillon couldn't fly up there and land even if he wanted to.'

'And why should he? He doesn't know what's going on.' Rashid nodded. 'So, I go with an escort, to the Holy Wells ambush site, join George and his men and Bell.' He turned and smiled. 'Would you come with me?'

'It'd be a privilege, brother.'

'Good.' He lit another cigarette. 'We'll set the world on fire, little sister.'

She took his hand and held on tight.

At the airport, just after dawn, Carver checked out the Golden Eagle. Hal Stone was there with Dillon and the Salters. Dillon had opened the weaponry bag from London, the best the Sergeant Major could supply. Titanium bulletproof waistcoats, AK-47S, a couple of Brownings with silencers, half a dozen fragmentation grenades, two Parker-Hale machine pistols.

Dillon and Billy got kitted out. Carver said, 'What's going on here?'

'Are you still on the RAF Reserve?' Dillon asked.

'So what?'

'Well, you've got a DFC. After this, you might get another one. We're the good guys, Ben. Your guys. Does that give you a problem?'

Carver's smile was instant. 'No, it bloody well doesn't.'

'So let's do it.' Dillon turned. 'Are you coming, Harry?'

But it was Stone who said, 'Dillon, they won't believe this at high table at Corpus – but I'm coming, too. Billy was right. A life not put to the test is not worth living.'

Up in the high country, Bell, O'Hara and Brosnan worked on the road through the defile, laying packs of Semtex, stretching wires to a detonator. It was early, the real heat of the day still to come. Bedu squatted and watched. George Rashid crouched close by.

Bell said, 'Funny, isn't it? Back there in South Armagh, you were trying to stiff us.'

'Of course I was. I held Her Majesty's commission as a Second Lieutenant in One Para. You were the enemy. I shot two of your people personally.'

'Bastard,' Brosnan snarled.

Bell said, 'Don't be silly. He was doing his job. Now get on with the wiring.'

An hour and a half earlier in the dawn light, Carver had flown in at five thousand feet and descended. Dillon leaned over his shoulder.

'Is that it?'

'Rama, that's all I know.'

'Go down and let's make sure they're not there.'

The Golden Eagle descended to a thousand feet. Carver said, 'It looks clear to me.'

'Good. Go round again and we'll jump.'

'You're crazy, you know that?'

'Yes, but it does make life interesting, Ben.'

Dillon went back and nodded to Billy. 'Time to go. Get the door open.'

It was Harry who moved first as he wrestled with the locking bar. The airstair door opened, the steps went down and there was a huge intake of air. Stone and Harry hung on and Billy and Dillon moved forward, the AK-47S and Parker-Hales across their chests.

'After you,' Dillon shouted above the roaring. 'You're a younger guy.'

Billy laughed. 'You're an older guy, so I'll be on the ground first to protect you.'

He stepped out onto the airstair door, went headfirst and Dillon went after him. The Golden Eagle started to turn away, and Stone and Harry wrestled with the door and finally got it closed. Harry ran to a window and, as they banked, saw the two 'chutes land way below.

'They made it.'

'Good,' Professor Stone said. 'So let's get out of here before the other people notice us and start asking questions.'

At Northolt, Ferguson had found Lacey and Parry waiting with the Gulfstream, plus the Sergeant Major with two AKs and four Brownings.

'You're going into battle again, General?' he said.

'Well, it's not exactly good where we are going, so let's be ready.' He turned to Blake. 'You can handle an AK?'

'Charles, that's like asking if your grandmother can cook. I was in Vietnam.'

Ferguson shook hands with the Sergeant Major and turned to Lacey.

'Four Brownings, Squadron Leader. That's one each for you and the Flight Lieutenant. Hazar may prove a serious problem as regards your health. I thought you should be ready.'

'Very considerate of you, General,' Lacey said. 'We've got a young lady on board to handle catering. Flight Sergeant Avon.'

Ferguson turned to the Sergeant Major. 'Find another Browning.'

'Of course, sir.'

Later, sitting in the plane, the door closed, ready to go, the young Flight Sergeant appeared, not wearing an RAF uniform but an international-looking navy blue job.

As the plane moved away, she said, 'Anything you gentlemen would like?'

'Later, Sergeant.' Ferguson smiled. 'You know who I am?'

'Of course, General.'

He picked up the extra Browning the Sergeant Major had given him. 'I presume you've had basic weapon training?'

'Of course, sir.'

'Good. Take this. We're going into harm's way. I'd like to think you can defend yourself if needs be.'

She was so cool, he could feel the ice. 'That's very good of you, General. I've got prawn salad, Lancashire hotpot, smoked salmon and game soup.'

'Sounds fine,' Blake said.

Ferguson smiled. 'Mr Johnson works for the President of the United States, but do be prepared to use the Browning. The people on the other side aren't nice.'

'No problem, sir. I've a bottle of Tattinger in my fridge if you'd care for a glass of champagne.'

She left. Blake said, 'I wonder how it's going for Dillon?'

'The question should be, how is it going for the other lot,' Ferguson said.

On the ground, Dillon divested himself of his 'chute, covered it with soft sand and went looking for Billy. He clambered up the nearest sand dune and found him below on his knees, burying his parachute. Dillon ploughed down to join him.

'You're okay?'

'Fine,' Billy told him. 'We should do this more often.'

Dillon took out his mobile and called Villiers. The Colonel replied almost instantly. Dillon said, 'Billy and I are on the ground in one piece.'

'Any sign of the opposition?'

'Not when we flew over. We'll make for Rama, see what the situation is on the road. Where are you?'

'Twenty miles.'

'And Bronsby?'

'About thirty miles, maybe forty, to the east.'

'Good. Billy and I will push hard and cut the road. The minute I get a smell of them, I'll call you.'

He stuffed his phone into a pocket of his bush shirt, turned to Billy, took out a compass and checked it.

'Right, let's move it. Once we find the road, we'll climb one of the dunes and see what we can see.' He took a headcloth from his backpack and pulled it on. 'Do the same, Billy, it's going to get hot.'

They cut the road an hour later and moved along it at a half run. There was a fine covering of sand, but no sign of tyre tracks, no sign of anything. Finally, Dillon stopped. The defile was before them.

'This has got to be it. Let's go up there.' He pointed to a sand dune that was at least five hundred feet high. 'We'll see anything that's coming.'

It was hard going, the heat increasing as they toiled up the steep side of the dune, and then they were on top and sat down. Billy produced a bottle of water, drank some and passed it to Dillon, who drank deeply, then took out his Zeiss glasses and scanned the horizon.

'That's it.' He pointed and passed the glasses to Billy. 'They're to the east, the farthest part of the road.'

Billy looked, adjusted the glasses and the lead Land Rover sprang into view, the column behind.

'Jesus,' Billy said. 'The Rashids are coming up fast.'

'I'd say you're right, Billy.'

'And two of us.'

'Let them get closer, then I'll call in and let Villiers know where we are.'

Down in the defile at Rama, Bell, O'Hara and Brosnan worked on their bomb. George Rashid sat waiting with some of his men. Up above on the edge of the defile, a handful watched. Suddenly, one of them fired a shot into the air, stood up and waved. A moment later, two more Land Rovers appeared and braked to a halt. Paul and Kate Rashid got out.