He wasn’t followed.

On the outskirts of town, far from the road, he took shelter in a ditch. It was, at least, dry and there was nobody about so he didn’t worry about being seen. The hot afternoon waned slowly. He took the opportunity to rest and plan the rest of the day’s activities. The guy with the two stooges, he surmised, was most probably the local hemp baron. Not the kingpin – his place wasn’t nearly flush enough for that; just some kind of middleman who the real drug lords would stamp on in an instant if it suited them, but who until then was content to swan around the town like he owned the place. Jacob knew his type – he’d seen them in all parts of the world where people made their money harvesting narcotics.

It took an age for night to fall; an age during which Jacob could do nothing but wait. And think. In his mind he replayed the events of earlier that morning a thousand times. There was a weird kind of symmetry to what had happened. All his life it had been Jacob looking out for Sam. That was just the way it was – Sam had been the kind of kid that needed looking out for. Constantly. Now the tables had been turned and it was Sam who had saved Jacob’s neck.

He felt himself getting angry as he always did when he thought about his family.

The silvery moon rose before it was fully dark. It was already bright, though: it often was in this part of the world. He had watched many of these moons rise and fall. With the onset of full darkness came the stars. Heaven was full of them, amazingly bright. There was very little ambient light in the Chu Valley. It made the sky look like a Christmas card.

It was past midnight when Jacob eased his way out of the ditch. He ate some more chocolate and then began tramping his way back into the village.

The streets were deserted, but the moon was so bright it was almost like midday. He found his way with ease. Having memorised the layout of the network of streets, he avoided the road in which the hemp baron’s house was located, coming upon it from a more circuitous route.

In the night air an animal howled.

He stepped gingerly into view of the house. A guard stood at the gates. One of the guys from earlier? Perhaps. From this distance he couldn’t tell. He was leaning lazily against the wall, with a rifle in one hand. Jacob could see the orange spot of a cigarette glowing like a firefly in front of his face. He stepped back into the shadows again and considered his options. If he was to proceed, the guard needed to be out of his way. But how was he going to do that? The guy had a good field of vision. It didn’t matter how quickly he ran towards him, he’d still be able to raise his rifle and have a go…

Jacob retraced his steps. The guard was in position to stop anyone getting into the compound; so the last thing he would expect was for an assailant to be there already. He approached the house from the back. The wall was not high – low enough to scale, certainly. Jacob pulled himself up and held on to the large spiky railings, a little taller than he was, to peer into the compound. All was dark. He heaved himself up. His feet clattered slightly against the metal railings, causing a hidden animal somewhere nearby to scuttle away; but he managed to get one foot in between two of the spikes and push himself over, landing heavily on the ground below.

He kept minutely still for a moment, waiting for the clump of his landing to dissipate and listening for any signal that he might have disturbed someone; but there was nothing, just the recurring howling of the animal in the distance. Jacob got to his feet, grabbed his handgun and crept silently round to the front of the house.

The guard was still there, in front of the gates, and still smoking – Jacob could see the smoke rising above his head. He crept towards the gate, his handgun outstretched. Within seconds he was standing right behind the unsuspecting guard.

He put the gun through the railings and tapped the end of the barrel twice against the man’s skull.

The guard dropped his cigarette and spun round. When he saw Jacob he made to grab his own weapon; but Jacob shook his head sharply and instead the man stepped nervously backwards.

The gates were not locked. The gun still pointing at its target, Jacob opened them and stepped outside. The guard couldn’t take his eyes off the weapon; so when Jacob delivered a sharp, sudden blow with his free hand into the man’s neck, it must have come as a surprise. He crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

Quickly, silently, Jacob closed the gates, strapped the man’s rifle – an old Russian-made AK-47 – over his shoulder and dragged the body towards the garage. These doors were not locked either – why bother when there’s a security guard on duty? – so they were quickly inside.

Jacob worked with haste. He rifled through the security guard’s pockets, finding nothing more useful than a small amount of money, then turned his attention to the truck. There were several canisters of fuel in the garage, so he loaded these into the back along with the AK-47, before taking his place in the driver’s seat. No key. That wouldn’t be problem.

There were two ways he could start it. A screwdriver driven deep into the ignition with a hammer then turned with some kind of wrench would work; but there was no screwdriver, no hammer and no wrench, and besides, it would create more noise than he wanted to make. Better to hotwire. He pulled the plastic casing away from under the steering column and located the wiring loom, which he ripped out with a firm tug. There were five or six wires here. It was just a matter of finding which ones were hot. He touched two at a time together, methodically, and before long the truck had coughed into life.

Jacob jumped out and opened the garage doors. Seconds later he was away. He drove slowly through the village streets, sensibly, so as not arouse suspicion. But as soon as he was on the main road, he floored it.

Jacob Redman was happy to be getting the hell out of Dodge.

The mood in the Hercules was bleak.

No one spoke. They just sat there, all eyes on Craven’s bloodied body bag. Sam knew what they were all thinking: that it could have been any of them; that in situations like that, survival is just a fluke; that maybe, if one of them had looked another way or been a bit more on the ball, Craven would still be alive, joking with them in the afterglow of a mission successfully completed. But Craven wasn’t going to laugh with anybody ever again. And as they flew south, Sam wondered if the same might be true of himself.

He could feel the tension with Mac. His old friend was avoiding his eye. Sam didn’t really blame him. He didn’t deserve to be kept in the dark. Why then, was Sam doing it?

The plane shuddered. Just turbulence.

He was doing it, he realised, because he, too, was still in the dark. Jacob might be safe, or safer, but Sam had just as many questions and hardly any answers. And when you don’t know what you’re talking about, maybe it’s best to keep your mouth shut.

He thought of Jacob. Where was he now? Running blindly, no doubt. Keeping hidden. Wondering why the Regiment had been sent to kill him and how many others there were with the same aim…

It was fully day by the time the Hercules started losing height. Sam would never have thought it would be a relief to touch down in Afghanistan, but that was exactly how he felt. When the aircraft came to a halt and the tailgate opened once more, sunlight and warmth flooded in. Sam staggered, exhausted, on to the tarmac with his Diemaco slung over his back and the others following in a ragged group.

Members of the squadron were waiting for them. Not everyone, but at least twenty – enough to make it clear that word of Craven’s death had preceded them. They stood grim-faced and respectful, not saying anything to the returning soldiers, because they knew there was nothing to say. Sam avoided their gazes. Craven’s death wasn’t his fault; even if he hadn’t had other plans on that mission, the kid would still have bought it. But he couldn’t help feeling a twinge of guilt. Keeping things from your mates like that wasn’t the Regiment way. Now that it was over, it made him feel bad.