Williams turned right again and steered the Bentley up an unlit access road that led to a row of large hangars. In the middle of it there was a kind of art deco castle—a two-storey white stucco complex with wide windows, curved sides, and a tower that added another couple of floors to its middle.

Williams steered round the small, circular lawn in front of the complex’s jutting portico and parked neatly next to its oak and glass panelled entrance. He got out of the Bentley and gestured at Holland with his Makarov to do the same and follow him through the castle’s unlocked double doors.

The few feet of salty air confirmed Holland’s guess that they were near the sea, and the inside of the building told him that it was actually the terminal building of a small airport. It was dark, but he could make out photos and models of planes in the weak light coming in from the tall windows that stretched the height of the central, cavernous tower.

Williams, still silent, nudged him on by digging the pistol into his back. Almost as soon as they were in the terminal they were out of it again, through another set of doors on the opposite side.

Here there was only darkness, stretching out into nothingness. They were on the airfield. Holland couldn’t see a runway or any planes, but soon enough Williams revealed both to him, guiding them to one of the hangars. They stopped briefly at its giant, gaping maw of an entrance as Williams opened a control box bolted to the steel-panelled wall and flicked two switches. The first lit up a single Cessna, parked in an angled line of other planes, its nose tilted up as if it was already eager to be up in the sky. The second turned on two parallel rows of lights on either side of the runway.

‘Are you sure you don’t want to wait until morning?’ Holland asked. ‘Night flights can be tricky.’

Williams didn’t respond, he just grabbed the tie round Holland’s wrists and dragged him over to the Cessna and into its cramped cockpit.

After Williams strapped him into his seat, Holland watched as he quickly inspected the two propeller blades sticking out at right angles to the plane’s nose. He also noticed that the control wheel that should have been in front of him had been removed, leaving only the one for Williams, and a blunt spike pointing directly at his chest.

Williams climbed into the pilot’s seat and started a short set of pre-flight checks. He was methodical and focused, but also distracted, giving Holland his only chance to stop them flying off to God knows where.