An hour passed, Gabriel moving in anything but a linear fashion, zigzagging, twisting and turning, practically chaotic in nature. It seemed obvious to Chandler that their hound dog couldn’t recall the route he’d taken earlier. Either that or it was a drawn-out attempt to ward them off the scent.

Still the entourage followed, an atmosphere already sticky with tension becoming unbearable as the sun reached its peak. Chandler tried to focus his mind on the task but his body cried out for water and shade. Sweat gripped his uniform, dripping through his eyebrows and into his eyes, blurring his vision. As he passed under a branch, he tried to blink it away, and for a moment in the heat haze the slight figure of Gabriel morphed into the squat form of Arthur from all those years ago, the old man shuffling along, hunting in vain. Squeezing his eyes shut he shook the mirage from his head.

Just then Gabriel paused and looked around at the scenery.

‘Do you need a break?’ asked Mitch, his jacket slung neatly over his arm. His white shirt remained crisp and remarkably dry, as if he had no sweat glands at all. A freak of nature, thought Chandler.

‘No,’ said Gabriel sharply, as if angry at being distracted.

‘What is it?’ asked Chandler, stepping closer.

‘The forest here looks familiar. That rock,’ said Gabriel and set off, his pace quickening.

‘What about it?’ called out Chandler as he trailed behind.

‘The bend in the horizon . . .’ Twisting towards them Gabriel stumbled, banging into an unyielding tree trunk, and fell to the ground.

‘Are you okay?’

Gabriel winced and tried in vain to get up. Chandler grabbed him and helped him to his feet. ‘I’m okay, but can I get rid of these? For now?’ he said, presenting the cuffs that were bound behind his back. ‘In case I fall again. It’s hard to move.’

‘I’m not going to be caught out like others, Mr Johnson,’ stated Mitch.

‘I’m not going to run.’

‘I said no.’

Chandler approached his former colleague, voice lowered. ‘What if he gets injured?’

‘We make sure he doesn’t. We look after him. You look after him,’ said Mitch.

Chandler stared at him. It was like peering at a rock face, hard, chiselled and uncompromising.

‘If he falls, he could sue us. And how will that look on your record?’

‘No,’ Mitch said.

Gabriel shrugged, turned and walked on. His pace slowed, possibly in protest, possibly in exhaustion from walking and talking, recalling details of his escape, a tree he vaguely remembered passing, a dried-out stream that conjured images from the day before. Closing his eyes in what he said was an effort to aid his memory, Gabriel persistently stumbled, causing Chandler, Mitch or whoever was nearest to lurch towards him and keep him upright.

It took half an hour of this sluggish progress to irritate Mitch.