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the wall, was an old worn leather saddle; Carter knew this building was used as a stable, but he had never been inside.
    A winding dirt track led through scattered trees and fields, climbing a rise to meet with the front of the farmhouse. An old bicycle was propped against the wall, its deflated tyres dusty as they rested on an ancient wooden porch beside two pairs of battered boots.
    All this information was absorbed in a sweeping glance, but Carter’s mouth went dry as his gaze locked on the large black Mercedes 8x8 which sat outside the farmhouse.
    Three Nex stood levelling Steyr sub-machine guns at the heads of the five subdued people. Tomas was an old man. His lined and ancient face was filled with fear. Mary was kneeling, physically shaking, beside her husband, hair a neat grey bun, her arms wrapped around the smallest of the three little girls, Alice, Georgina and Freya stood in flower-painted dresses, weeping.
    The Nex were ignoring the family; they were talking among themselves, and then turned their attention to Tomas. Carter’s eyes focused on the back of the FukTruk. How many in there? It could hold perhaps fifty Nex ...
    Too many, he thought.
    Carter started to crawl forward through the scrub. Much of the Nex conversation was lost to him because of the distance. All he managed to pick out was, ‘Where are they?’ and the old man’s reply, ‘... don’t have answers to your questions.’ Gestures were made, and the old woman climbed wearily to her feet and was escorted by one of the Nex towards the stable ... leaving two Nex alone with old Tomas.
    Bad, thought Carter sombrely.
    There came another exchange, angrier this time, and the butt of a Steyr TMP smashed into Tomas’s skull. He toppled sideways, blood spraying from a jagged head wound, to lie stunned in the dirt in front of his home—as Carter increased his pace.
    So you want to play rough? he hissed inwardly. Well, we can play rough if you like. We can play real nasty.
    The two Nex spoke together for a moment. Then they both started to kick the old man, boots smashing into his face and body. They quickly tired of the game and, hefting their guns, followed their comrade and the old woman and crying children into the stable.
    ‘Come on. You going to be the Big Man?’ Kade mocked. ‘You going in to give them a taste of your bullets? What are you waiting for — a personal invitation? Go on, Butcher, do the right thing, my boy, you know those children deserve a better future ... ’
    ‘For a change, Kade, I agree with you.’ Carter’s voice was low, his tone deadly as his boots trod the long grass. He moved silently from tree to tree, his gaze swimming between the approaching barn and the sinister black Mercedes truck. The Nex did not reappear.
    ‘Yeah? Well, I’m bored, Carter, bored of this fucking life, bored of this fucking world. Come on, let‘s do the right thing ... let me out to play so we can see some precious fucking blood flow.’
    Carter withdrew his battered matt-black Browning 9mm HiPower. He stared hard at the squat weapon—his trusted companion. And grimly, moving with as much speed as he dared, Carter approached the farmhouse.
    The Merc’s engine was still clicking loudly as it cooled, and Carter crouched beside the vehicle. In the dusty road, Tomas was groaning softly and trying feebly to wipe pools of blood from his face.
    Carter, the Browning gripped in his fist, crawled to the old man, keeping his stare locked on the buckled timber walls and warped doors of the ancient stable-barn. Up close now, he could make out the ravaged face of Tomas—lined by the passage of time and the Cypriot sun. Anger flared in Carter’s breast.
    When Tomas saw Carter, his rheumy old eyes widened. ‘Thank God ...’ he began, but Carter shushed him into silence.
    ‘The Nex have taken Mary and the girls into the stable,’ said Carter softly. ‘Tell me the layout inside.’
    The old man shook his head slowly. ‘You have great honour, coming