OK, so what did he know? Well, he knew that the battle-ground was to be somewhere in Eastern Europe, and here he was. He also knew that the five immediate members of Charles Norton’s family – his widow Lady Norton; his daughter Montana, her ex-husband Clifford Levine and their two sons, Ross and Simon – had each chosen a proxy. So that meant five of them in the battle. Presumably each of the other competitors would have a similar skill set to him; presumably they would all be highly motivated and carefully chosen.

That said, Lady Norton and her lieutenant, Kilgore, seemed especially keen that Abbott should represent them, even though he had incriminating evidence on her.

Despite that fact? Or because of it? Did it mean that Lady Norton could feel justified in getting rid of Abbott when it was all over? Was it better to keep him close at hand? Either way, there was very little point in worrying about imponderables.

So it would be Abbott versus the other contestants. He had faced worse odds. Would any of the Nortons cheat, that was the question? After all, he had been busy putting plans into place himself. Then again, he had no designs on winning the contest. For them, cheating was a far riskier strategy.

But that wasn’t the whole story, was it? Because if he was going to do the job properly – and he fully intended to do the job properly – then he was taking out the Nortons at the same time. And that would mean going up against whatever private army they had on site.

What did he know about those guys so far? They were in a convo of two people carriers. In his: Kilgore, McGregor and beside him in the back seat, the hate-filled one they called Wilson. Was Kilgore a combatant? He couldn’t be sure. He had the appearance of a hard nut but perhaps in more of a corporate sense.

McGregor? McGregor had no training, but he wasn’t squeamish, he was prepared to have a go and that counted for a lot.

In the other vehicle was Morris, again probably not a combatant. Even though he was a weapons expert, he was more of an IT guy. Abbott had come across the type many times. Guys who knew all there was to know about guns, who always wanted to – so they said – ‘pick your brains’, which was really just an excuse for them to show off their own detailed weapons knowledge. Guys who fell asleep at night dreaming of combat, but if you put them in the field would shit their pants.

As well as Morris, there was another guy, Liszt or List? A large bloke. Abbott found himself thinking of the three guys he’d accounted for, back at the Travelodge. Wishing he’d managed to take out more.