‘Is that everything?’ the team leader asked in an east London accent.
‘All good,’ the recorder said in a Lancashire brogue.
‘Let’s go,’ the leader said, and they set off up the side of the field to the fence by the lane. They climbed over with the box and headed along the narrow track past Dinaal’s van and into a field, which they trudged across. Past the point where they had shot and hidden the two lookouts.
‘Wait a minute,’ the recorder said, stopping to take the device from his head to inspect it. The leader and the other operative, who were carrying the box, slowed as they looked back at their colleague.
‘What is it?’ the leader asked, coming to a stop.
‘I’m not sure I had it turned on.’
‘You what? You were supposed to make sure it worked before we went on the ground.’
‘I did.’
‘When’s the last time you checked it?’
‘I checked it in Hereford.’
‘Hereford?’ exclaimed the leader.
‘I mean, I did a diagnostics check in Hereford before I left and I checked it here in the embassy this afternoon.’ He fiddled with the device.
‘We can’t go back and do it again,’ the other operative said in a Welsh accent.
The team leader glanced at the Welshman with an irritated frown.
‘No, it’s fine,’ the recorder decided, walking on. ‘I thought it was off but it wasn’t. We’re good.’
The others set off after him.
‘You positive?’ the leader asked.
‘Yes.’
The leader gave him a sideward look. ‘How long you been in the Regiment?’
‘Three years. Why?’
‘You were RAF before you did selection, weren’t you?’
‘What’s that got to do with it?’ the recorder asked defensively.
‘Everything. Come on. I want to be home before the pubs shut tomorrow.’
The three men trudged off into the night towards a waiting van.