'So what are you going to do?' Hamza asked.

'Go hunting, give them a nice surprise. What about you?'

'I've got an old Browning machine gun. I'll set it up on the jetty and await events.'

'Fort Zinderneuf?'

'Ah, you've read Beau Geste?' Hamza smiled. 'An Englishman named Wren wrote that book. He actually served in the Legion.'

'Very interesting, but that was then, this is now. These men who are coming are killers of the first water.'

'I know this, my friend, if only because I trained Daniel Holley myself. I can only wish you luck.' He turned to Fatima. 'What about you?'

'I think I'll go with him. You know what you're doing, he doesn't. He thinks he knows everything, this one, but he doesn't know the marsh and he could get lost. We'll take Stingray.'

'You're worse than your mother was.' Hamza shrugged. 'As Allah wills.'

Talbot followed her outside and looked down at the Stingray. 'Is the sport fisherman the sensible boat to use? I'd have thought an inflatable with an outboard.'

'The reeds are fifteen and sometimes twenty feet high, so they'll conceal the upper deck, but at the same time, standing at that wheel, I can peer over occasionally and see where we are and what's going on.'

'That makes perfect sense.' He dropped down to the deck and she followed. 'I'll be guided by you, so let's get moving.'

She cast off and went up the ladder to the wheel, and Talbot followed and stood beside her, the AK cradled in his arms. It started to rain; as they drifted out, she switched on the engine and kept it down to a low rumble. There was the grey light of dawn now, and a curtain of mist floated in.

'When we have the heat of high summer and unexpected heavy rain, it produces the mist,' she told him.

'At least it makes it easier to play hide and seek,' he said.

They nosed into the reeds. Suddenly, wildfowl lifted in a cloud some little distance away, the birds angrily calling, and Fatima cut the engine.

'Something caused that. Keep your head low, but we can look with caution.' She produced a pair of Zeiss glasses from the map compartment and focused them. 'Ah, a flash of orange.' She nodded and turned to him, handing the glasses over. 'And another. Two of them. Inflatables with outboards.'

'Can we get closer?'

'Not without making a noise. I'll try using the pole. You stay here watching.'

She went down to the stern and commenced, and Talbot watched cautiously as the reeds parted and Stingray floated through; some distance away to the left he could hear the sound of an engine.

'What do you think?' he called down to Fatima.

'It sounds like two engines. I think Nadim has probably brought both boats.'

'How many men?'

'Sixteen or so. Each boat has a machine gun mounted. There's nothing those bastards like better than sweeping the marshes with those things, shooting everything in sight like schoolboys playing with toys.'

'The next thing you'll be saying is: that's men for you. Just a little closer, if you will.' She did as he asked, and everything happened in a hurry.

'There they are, two small orange inflatables in a waterway. Two men to each boat. I can't see who it is because they're wearing jungle kit and their faces are black, but here goes.'

He took deliberate aim and fired twice, saw his target fall into the water. 'Did you get him?' Fatima called up.

'Oh, yes.' Talbot smiled in triumph and, for a moment, forgot to keep low. Sean Dillon, with an uncertain glimpse of the Tuareg who was Shamrock, took a snap shot. It drilled Talbot's left side, and he staggered back awkwardly, dropping the AK and sliding down the ladder.

Fatima was on her knees. 'Merciful Allah, how bad is it?'

'Well, I wouldn't know, would I?' He managed a smile. 'You'll have to take a look. I've got a medical kit in my rucksack. You must find the morphine. When you're first shot, the shock kills the pain, but not for long.'

The engines of the approaching launches sounded louder now. 'They're coming fast,' Fatima said.

'Yes, well, let's keep our heads down and stay out of it. Just let them get on with it. If you look in my rucksack, you'll find half a bottle of Cognac, too. Get me that first.' Holley had dragged Hakim out of the water, and the Colonel lay there groaning, soaked to the skin, blood oozing through. He was obviously in a very bad way. Holley had been aware of the return shot and called out. 'Dillon, Miller, where are you?'

There was no reply, so he took out a spring knife and cut open Hakim's tunic. He knew just how bad it was straight away, and Hakim moaned, 'I'm going to die, Daniel.'

'Shut up and lie still,' Holley said. 'This isn't exactly the best place for medical treatment.' He took two morphine ampoules from his bag because he figured one wouldn't be enough, jabbed them in, tore open a pack containing a wound dressing, and applied it.

Hakim shook his head. 'A waste of time. This is Allah's punishment on me for my betrayal of you and Malik, the most shameful thing I have ever done in my life.'

'Don't worry about it,' Holley told him. 'I understand. Osama, Al Qaeda and the Preacher really had you in their clutches.'

Hakim clutched at Holley. 'But at least I can make amends before I go.'

'And how would you do that?'

'To others, the Preacher is just a voice on the phone, but not to me. I gave the special mobile he supplied to an electronic genius. He managed to break into the system.'

'And who is the Preacher?' Holley said, suppressing his excitement.

'He's a British-born Muslim named Hassan Shah. He lives in Bell Street, West Hampstead, I've checked. He's investigated war crimes for the British Government and is a Professor in International Law at the London School of Economics.'

'Good God almighty,' Holley said. 'We've got the bastard.'

'Yes, I believe you have.' Hakim's hand tightened on Holley's jacket, he convulsed, and his head fell to one side.

Holley sat there looking at him for a moment, wondering about his next move, but he was not given a choice. Small waves rippled though the reeds as the speed of whichever boat was approaching increased, and then the boat's heavy machine gun sprayed recklessly through the reeds and there was coarse laughter.

The inflatable rocked violently as the launch passed, and Holley took a fragmentation grenade from his bag and lobbed it over blindly. There were cries of dismay, followed by a violent explosion. He eased out into the channel and saw the Evening Star well alight. Two men with their uniforms on fire jumped into the water. Holley took another grenade out and lobbed it after the others, which seemed to finish the boat and the entire crew.

But there was still the Fortuna somewhere out there; Holley could hear the engines and the sound of its heavy machine gun firing into the reeds at random. He called Dillon on his Codex.

'What's your situation?' Dillon demanded.

'Hakim was hit by a sniper. Never saw who, but he's dead.'

'The sniper was Shamrock in his Tuareg get-up. I fired back and he definitely went down.'

'I got the Evening Star with two grenades and watched them die. Where are you?'

'Not far away at all. We'll move closer to the boat and find you.'

'Well, one other thing I must tell you, in case I get knocked off myself. It turns out that Hakim knew the name and address of the Preacher.'

'Jesus, Mary and Joseph,' Dillon said. 'Tell me.' Which Holley did, and Dillon said angrily: 'The bastard. I can just see him now, standing in the dock at the Old Bailey claiming his human rights.'

There was another burst of obviously haphazard machine gun fire not too far away. 'So what are we going to do?' Holley asked.

'Do you still have Hakim's body?'

'Sure I do. I didn't know what to do.'

'We're only yards away from the Evening Star and it's burning nicely. Start calling out and we'll call out, too, and see if we can get together before the Fortuna turns up. If Nadim's still on it, he won't be pleased.'