Sharp Shot. Justin Richards

       Prologue

       1990. Southern Iraq.

      John Chance raised his powerful binoculars and focused on the low building on the other side of the sand dune. It was an Iraqi nuclear lab, and according to British Intelligence, it was close to producing a viable bomb. According to Saddam Hussein, on the other hand, Iraq had no nuclear weapons programme —and this secret lab in the desert simply didn’t exist.

      It was John Chance’s job to make sure that by the end of the day, it really didn’t.

      “You think they’ve got nukes in there?” asked Dex Halford. He was Chance’s number two on this mission, a wiry but powerful man with dark hair. At that moment his hair was covered by a brown headscarf. Like the long cloak he wore over his uniform, it was designed to blend in with the sand of the desert, and to give the impression at a distance that he was a local tribesman.

      “Too soon,” said Chance. “The assessment from MI6 says they’ve only just got the place up and running. They may have some raw material, but it’s unlikely they’ll have anything weapons-grade yet.”

      “Not impossible, though. Six have been wrong before,” said Ferdy McCain. He was the shortest of the team, stocky and heavy set. A thin, dark moustache made him look more like an Italian gangster than an elite British Special Forces operative.

      “There was a rumour they got stuff out of the Al-Maan facility before Mossad, the Israeli counter terrorism unit, paid it a visit,” said Halford. “If they did, they’ll have brought it here.”

      Any further discussion was interrupted by the fourth member of the team. “We’ve got company,” called Mark Darrow from the other side of the shallow dip where they were hiding.

      Chance signalled for McCain and Halford to stay where they were, and crawled over to have a look. Darrow was on the other side of the Jeep—a camouflage net had been spread over the vehicle and staked with tent pegs to keep it in place. The back of the Jeep was stacked with equipment, including several boxes of high explosives.

      “What is it?” asked Chance, lying flat beside Darrow so that only his scarf-wrapped head poked above the rise of the dune.

      Darrow pointed into the distance, and Chance raised his binoculars. A long way off, but heading towards them, he could see a line of camels. The image shimmered in the heat, but even at this distance Chance could see the Bedouin tribes people walking alongside. He smiled grimly as he saw that one of the camels had a baby camel strapped to its back—so the infant wouldn’t slow them down.

      “They might go right past,” said Darrow. “But evening will be drawing in soon, and they’ll want to set up camp before it gets cold. They must know the plant is there, I reckon they’ll use the buildings for shelter from the night wind. They’ll know the weather’s due to break any time.”

      “And if they do pitch camp close to the nuclear facility…”

      “It’ll keep some of the Republican Guards busy watching them, and maybe they’ll take the blame,” Darrow finished for him. “Good diversion.”

      But that wasn’t what Chance had in mind. “If they camp too close, they’ll be caught in the blast. That place will go with one hell of a bang.”

      “We’ll make sure of it.” Darrow grinned. “And if they find a few Bedouin bodies in the wreckage, all the better.”

      Chance looked at him coldly. “We’ve got an hour before we need to get ready. You stay here with Halford.” He turned and called across to the other two men. “Dex, stay here with Darrow. Ferdy— you’re with me.”

      “Where are we going?” asked Ferdy McCain as he hurried over to join Chance.

      “We’re going to warn those Bedouin that they need to camp somewhere else.”

      “You’re crazy,” Darrow told him. “They don’t owe us anything—what if they chop you down where you stand?”

      Chance fixed him with a piercing stare. “We’re surgeons not butchers,” he said quietly. “We’re here to save lives, not to take them. Yes, there will be some casualties, but no more than necessary. Our target is that nuclear facility and whatever they have there. Not the guards, though we’ll take them out if we have to. Not the scientists, who are probably working under duress anyway, but again, we’ll take them out if we must. But there is no excuse—no excuse—for putting