''Nice. You gave yourself a promotion.''

''Trying it on for size. It felt like a good fit.''

''Well, Captain Maradi,'' David said, ''as we're being candid with each other, perhaps I should tell you that because my squad has failed to radio back to base with a mission status by now, and missed its exfil window, alarm bells will have rung and a recovery team will be on its way to find out what's become of us. They're probably looking for us even as we speak. Your best bet is to up sticks and run while you can. The recovery team will be coming in gunships and you won't stand a chance.''

Wilkins — Maradi — regarded David with frank scepticism. ''Is that so? My understanding is that a mission like yours, a covert foray across enemy borders, carries full deniability. No one is coming to your aid. If your mission goes awry, your top brass will deny you were ever here or that you even existed.''

''The army isn't going to leave twenty good soldiers stranded in the desert without mounting at least one rescue attempt.''

''In that case,'' said Maradi wryly, ''time is of the essence and we must hurry. I am going to give you one last opportunity to agree to answer my questions freely, without coercion. Then, I'm afraid, I will have to start being more persuasive. Let me show you what I mean.''

He picked up what appeared to be a small tube of some kind of paste.

''What is this?'' he said, holding it up for David to inspect.

David squinted. The markings on the tube were in Arabic script, but it could only be one thing.

''Glue.''

''A very strong epoxy adhesive,'' said Maradi, nodding. ''The kind used by hobbyists to assemble plastic aeroplane kits and the like. The kind that you are not supposed to bring into contact with your skin. See, there's a little warning notice here on the side. It says, 'Caustic. Severe irritant.' Now think how it might feel to have some of this glue squeezed into your ear canal.