Andy McNab - Boy soldier

'Your phone,' said Danny at last. 'I got the number from Kev Newman's mobile and traced where you were on the Internet.'

'But how?'

'A phone location company.'

'But… but you'd need my PIN number for that.'

'It's your army number, last four.'

'How did you…?' Fergus shook his head. 'Kev warned me that you were a persistent little shite.'

The bus was deep in the countryside when Fergus leaned across the aisle and pushed the stop button. 'This is us.'

They got off and hid in the tree line that followed the road. Soon after, two cars went by, one of them a mini cab. Fergus watched them disappear into the distance. The smell of the nearby salt marshes hung in the air and the only sounds came from the cawing of huge black crows as they wheeled their way across the early evening sky.

Danny's anger was growing again. 'Are we just gonna stand here?'

'Shut it,' answered Fergus as he started to walk quickly along the road. Danny noticed his grandfather's limp for the first time and realized it must be the result of the gun battle in Colombia. It made him even angrier.

They reached a long, muddy track leading off the road. Just visible down at the end of the track was a cottage, and when Fergus headed towards it, Danny had little alternative but to follow. He watched, bemused, as Fergus looked under the old chicken coop and confirmed for himself that the mini Maglite wasn't on. He moved on and Danny trailed behind, not spotting any of the cameras, lights or motion detectors.

At the gate Fergus checked that the matchstick was still in place. It was. He opened the front door, pulled Danny inside and closed the door. The sitting-room door was half open, exactly as it was meant to be. Danny could see through to the small bank of TV monitors showing the muddy track. He turned to his grandfather. 'What is all this?'

Fergus didn't reply but grabbed Danny by the collar of his jacket, dragged him into the kitchen and pushed him against the wall. 'Stand there and don't move. Don't even think about moving.'

He stomped away and went upstairs. Danny heard his footsteps moving from room to room. A couple of minutes later he came thundering down the stairs and back into the kitchen, not even looking at Danny as he lifted the rug and revealed the opening to the cellar. He picked up the torch on the top step. 'Stay there,' he growled, disappearing into the gloom.

Danny leaned against the kitchen wall and looked at the back door, thinking about making a run for it.

Then the bleepers began to sound, loud and shrill and piercing.

Fergus came hurtling up from the cellar and rushed to the monitors. Two cars were coming down the track at high speed. Mud flew from their wheels and the beams of their headlights seemed to bounce off the trees. The front vehicle was a Ford Focus. Fergus cursed, turned back to Danny and pushed him towards the open trapdoor. 'Get down there, quick!'

Danny stumbled down the stairs into the cellar and stood in semi-darkness and a pool of water as Fergus pulled shut the trapdoor, turned on the torch and went straight to the boxes against the wall. He yanked them aside and shone the torch into the tunnel. 'In there, boy, get in!'

It was no time to argue. Danny scrambled into the hole and Fergus followed, pulling the boxes back against the wall and switching off the torch to save the batteries. They were plunged into total darkness and Fergus pushed Danny further into the cold, wet, muddy tunnel. 'Get going, boy, hurry up!'

Eddie Moyes was feeling pleased, tired and hungry as he leaned against the chicken coop and stared up towards the cottage. The first hint of night was beginning to slither over the landscape. That suited Eddie: it would make his approach easier. He took a Snickers bar he'd kept in reserve from his pocket and decided to enjoy it before continuing on up the track. Before the chocolate bar had even reached his mouth, Eddie heard the cars screaming up the road and saw the first one turn towards him. The Snickers bar dropped into the mud as Eddie ducked down behind the chicken coop.

Brian and Jimmy were in the Focus, Fran and Mick barely bumper distance behind in the Golf. All four members of the team wore dark blue body armour and had MP5s on slings across their chests. Jimmy also had a sawn-off, pump-action shotgun with seven solid-shot rounds in the tubular magazine below the barrel. He was the MOE man.

Both cars skidded to a halt just short of the garden fence. Jimmy was first out, even before the Focus had stopped. He jumped the fence and ran to the front door, not looking to see what was around him, totally focused on the door. He looked for the hinge side, knowing he had to get it right first time. The slightest delay would give anyone inside priceless escape time.

He heard Brian behind him as he jammed the muzzle of the shotgun into the frame a third of the way down the door where the top hinge should be. He pulled the trigger. The shotgun roared and jolted back and splinters of wood sprayed over Jimmy and Brian. Jimmy was already on his knees reloading as Brian waited, his eyes and MP5 trained up at the first-floor windows.

Mick and Fran came running up as Jimmy jammed the shotgun muzzle into the lower hinge area of the frame, a third of the way up from the bottom. The second shot seemed even louder, and showers of jagged splinters flew into the air. Jimmy dropped the shotgun and moved away as Mick charged the door. It fell away easily and Mick tumbled into the hallway with it.

Fran was directly behind. With her weapon up in the aim, she jumped over Mick and moved into the hallway. She stayed right, clearing the door area, so the others could make their entry. Jimmy and Brian went by, into the kitchen. Their job was to clear the ground floor while Fran and Mick took the upstairs.

Fran kept low, safety catch off and finger on the trigger, looking for any sign of movement from the top of the stairs. She took the stairs two at a time, weapon now up high and pointing at the landing. Mick was close behind.

They could hear the other two as they checked each ground-floor room. 'Clear!'

Fran reached the landing and stayed there, covering the two doors in front of her. Mick went past, reached the first door and pushed it open so that Fran could move into the room. 'Clear!'

They reversed roles for the second room. Mick had the door covered as Fran went by, grabbed the handle and pushed open the door. Mick could see inside immediately.

Weapon up, both eyes wide, chest heaving for oxygen, safety catch off and finger on the trigger, he pushed his way into the bathroom. 'Clear! Top floor clear!'

An answering shout came from below: 'Ground floor clear!'

Eddie wasn't a brave man, but he was a reporter through and through. His nose for news meant he had to get closer to find out exactly what was going on inside the cottage.

It was getting darker. Eddie scrambled over the rough ground, lost his footing and slid into a muddy ditch before he was halfway to the cottage. He was wet through and covered in mud but it didn't matter. This was the story he'd been waiting and praying for. He couldn't wait to offer the exclusive to one of the nationals. He couldn't wait to see the faces of the so-called journalists who'd rejected him, especially that jumped-up little apology for a news editor.

He moved closer and sheltered in a hedgerow fifteen metres from the cottage. As he considered his next move he saw the headlights of a third vehicle approaching along the track. Sweaty and muddy, Eddie ducked down low to await the new arrivals.

The car was drawing to a standstill as Fran led the team from the house to their vehicles. They went to their ready bags and took out NVGs in preparation for a long night in the cuds searching for their targets.

A man and a woman got out of the car. Both were smartly dressed – Eddie could see that these were no knuckle-draggers like the other four. The governors had arrived.