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whom each pertained. ‘Jack Dodds . . . Greg Murray – good man, Greg – Spud Glover . . .’
    A frown crossed his face as he opened the last file. ‘Danny Black?’ He looked up. ‘You don’t want him, fellas. He’s out of town anyway.’
    ‘I’m afraid I might have to insist, Johnny.’
    Cartwright stared at his MI6 sparring partner, then exhaled with the air of a defeated man. ‘Do me a favour, Oliver. Take someone else. Give Black a break.’ The CO glanced at Buckingham as he said this – not, Buckingham noted, without a hint of resentment. ‘The lad’s been on ops for six months solid. And he doesn’t know it yet, but he’s got a bastard of a homecoming to look forward to. He needs some down time. Compassionate problems to sort out.’
    ‘What problems, exactly?’ Buckingham asked, careful to keep his voice respectful.
    ‘You’ve read his file,’ the CO snapped without even looking at the younger man.
    Chastened, Buckingham looked at his knees.
    ‘Hugo has had other matters to occupy him,’ Carrington said.
    ‘Look,’ Cartwright went on, ‘the lad comes from a military family. Father was in the Parachute Regiment, took a bullet to the head in Northern Ireland from an IRA hit team. Been in a wheelchair ever since. Can’t even answer a call of nature without the help of a nurse, so I’ve heard. Astonishing the kid isn’t messed up himself. His brother certainly is – mental health issues ever since he was a child, in and out of prison since sixteen. Just reaching the end of six months for GBH. Ever heard of a Hereford Spanner?’
    ‘Can’t say I have,’ Carrington said.
    ‘Nasty little cocktail of ketamine, MDMA and cocaine.’
    ‘More of a brandy and soda man myself.’
    ‘Why’s it called a Hereford Spanner?’ asked Buckingham.
    ‘Because it looks like you’ve been hit in the face with one. If I had my way, we’d send the little buggers who think that kind of stuff is a good idea on ops to Colombia, let them see exactly where their recreational drugs come from.’ He shrugged. ‘Kyle Black saw fit to beat some kid to a pulp when he was high on one of these cocktails, then knock his dad out of his chair when the old boy tried to calm him down. Poor sod broke his arm – last thing he needed. I want to give Danny time to sort all this out.’ The CO squeezed the bridge of his nose and suddenly looked very tired. ‘Seriously, Oliver, choose someone else. Black’s off limits for now.’
    Hugo turned to his colleague and gave an apologetic little cough. ‘Sounds to me like the poor fellow has enough on his plate already,’ he said. ‘I’m sure we can find a suitable—’
    ‘ Let’s ,’ Carrington interrupted, a withering look on his face, ‘speak when we’re spoken to, shall we, Hugo?’ Hugo felt himself flushing for a second time, and fell silent.
    Turning his attention back to Cartwright, Carrington asked, ‘Do you know where the lad is now?’
    ‘I’m his commanding officer. Of course I know where he is.’
    ‘Good,’ said Carrington, resting his hands on his stomach. ‘Where?’

THREE
    Fifty nautical miles north of the Libyan coastline, six billion dollars’ worth of US Navy aircraft carrier stood watch in the failing light. The USS George Bush was a long way from home. So was Danny Black.
    He checked his watch. 21.45 hrs, Eastern European Time. The green light had come through from COBRA at 17.00 hrs GMT on the dot. Danny had a picture in his mind of the decision-makers hurriedly wrapping up their discussions before the end of working hours. Wouldn’t do for them to be late for their dinner appointments. Gordon Ramsay for the suits, meals ready-to-eat for the troops they were sending into action. Which was just fine by Danny. Thirty minutes from now it would be fully dark, and he and his patrol would be airborne. He glanced up, past the air traffic control radars, at the moon’s state: full, rising from the west, clear sky. There would be light to see by