A problem with an idyllic island existence, thought Ben grimly, was that it left everyone exposed to the nasties of this world. Life in paradise is all very well if everyone feels that way. The majority of islanders hadn’t owned guns. They’d never dreamed of needing them and it had left the way for the few to run riot.

A burst of gunfire came from their left and the pilot swung the Chinook round so the floodlights pierced the forest.

‘That’s M16s,’ the sergeant sitting beside Ben told them. ‘I recognise the firing pattern. They sound too far away to be accurate. Reports are that most of these guys were already on the ground. We’re therefore acting on the assumption that they won’t have high-calibre weapons. They’ll give us trouble on the ground but if that’s all they have… I say land.’

‘OK, we’re going in,’ the pilot said. ‘You know your job, guys. Let’s go.’

Pieter had personally brought another two units of plasma into the operating theatre. He was needed outside, Lily knew, but she also knew he was treating her as a patient-a patient who he needed to stay on her feet. The woman under her hands was the island’s housing councillor. The wound to her chest was deep and ugly. It was a miracle the shot had missed her heart. All Lily’s attention had to be on her, but Pieter knew that she needed at least some hope.

He was giving it to her now.

‘Friendly troops are landing on Fringe Beach,’ he said. ‘A couple of new patients have come in from the rainforest and they saw them land. We’ve radioed for help and it’s come.’

Lily was hardly listening. ‘Benjy,’ she was whispering over and over again. ‘Benjy…’

‘How many?’ one of the theatre nurses asked, and Lily focused enough to hear terror in her voice that matched her own. Any minute now the few armed men they had could be subdued. The insurgents could take this place over.