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about the talent they went after. He noticed one common factor: all the people listed were single, widowed or divorced. Pollock, although divorced, was the only one with a significant other who still seemed to care about him.
    He went back to the records. Home addresses and telephone numbers were listed and were being monitored around the clock. Harry assumed that meant in person by the Royal Military Police and electronically by GCHQ. There was always a chance they might call without thinking, but he wasn’t about to hold his breath. Interestingly, there was a note that Sgt Barrow’s was the only mobile still active, although no fix had been made on it so far.
    He thought about it for a few seconds, trying to decide who to focus on first. If Rik came up with anything, that was a bonus. In the meantime, he hated inaction and needed to get on with something concrete. He decided to get on Lt Tan’s case. Whatever Ballatyne thought about the other men and their equipment and technical knowledge, the Protectory might well have other views. Signals, Intelligence Corps and other personnel were relatively plentiful, and they would be counting on more coming along sooner or later. But someone from a central command position was a rarity, and that alone would command a good price to the right taker. If he could get a line on Tan’s movements, then the Protectory – and Paulton – wouldn’t be far away.
    It was a few minutes before he noticed that Rik was unusually quiet, and scratching absent-mindedly at his shoulder beneath the bandage. He had said little on the long return journey from Iraq, and Harry wondered when he would reach the tipping point; when it would become too urgent for him to hold in any longer what was surely bothering him. Shooting someone for the first time was bad enough, no doubt about it. Not that the second time was any better. And Rik had done it just a few days ago. Worse, he thought he’d killed a woman.
    â€˜Would you have shot him if things had gone bad?’
    Harry guessed Rik was referring to Rafa’i. There had never been anything explicit said about dealing with the former cleric once they arrived at the delivery point in west Baghdad; and he had taken it as read that being seen to shoot the Iraqi, no matter that his own people probably wanted him dead before long, would be the worst possible action to take. It had been a simple drop-and-leave mission, and what Rafa’i’s former friends wanted to do with him once they’d heard of his deception and betrayal was up to them. But Harry wasn’t naïve; if it had all kicked off the moment they touched down and they’d found themselves under fire from supporters still loyal to Rafa’i, he knew he would have been expected to ensure that there was no comeback.
    â€˜We’ll never know. Probably.’
    â€˜So it does get easier.’
    Harry kept his head down, eyes on the papers. It was a question with no easy answer and one he didn’t think he could tackle right now. But he knew this was the tipping point he’d been waiting for.
    â€˜You didn’t kill her.’
    A short silence. ‘What?’ Rik’s voice was hoarse. It wasn’t the answer he’d been expecting. On the surface, he appeared ready for anything, but Harry knew it wasn’t that simple. He was human. ‘You don’t know that.’
    â€˜Your shot didn’t kill her. It went high and to your left. Hit her in the right shoulder.’ Rik had been sitting on the ground, hands already shaking with the adrenalin rush of being in a firefight and the trauma of a gunshot wound from Joanne Archer’s pistol. He’d been calm enough, aiming, then shouting a warning, but it would have been amazing if he’d been able to pull off an accurate kill under those conditions. It had been Harry who’d fired the fatal shots.
    â€˜But I saw her. She fell.’
    Harry nodded and looked at him,