The guard shifted his weight from one foot to the other and then grunted his consent. The doctor unwound the blood pressure meter and then, taking a pair of rescue shears from the leather bag, cut through the cable ties behind my back. My arms fell and struck the ground. Blood forced its way back along my brachial arteries. I couldn’t move my arms, but I could feel them. And that was a start – even though all I could feel was pain. A cannula had been taped in place on the back of my left hand – through which they’d probably delivered a sedative and saline before we’d set off. I remembered nothing after getting in the car – the pain in my head possibly from the blow that had knocked me out.

The guard put his shoulder into my back and lifted me up lengthways along the container, facing away from the light. The doctor reached up and severed the rope above my ankles.

I needed them to move fast. Once the captain and the other guard arrived, the chances of the container becoming my coffin would rise dramatically. In the movies the hero takes everyone by surprise and kills them all. In reality the bad guys watch you on CCTV and then shoot you in the back.

They laid me down. The doctor passed the scissors to the guard. While he cut through the gaffer tape binding my ankles, the doctor tipped my forehead back, lifted my chin and opened my mouth. Airway clear. He lifted my right forearm, palm out, and rested it beside my head, like a policeman stopping traffic. My left hand he held to my right cheek, palm in. As the guard cut the final binding that pinned my legs, the doctor grabbed my jeans above my left knee and rolled me towards him, swivelling me into the recovery position.

I was free.

I kept my left leg moving, pitching it upwards, driving my foot as hard as I could into the back of the guard’s legs. He crumpled at the knees. I pushed myself up on to my feet … and then crumpled, too – my own legs unresponsive lumps of flesh beneath me. I staggered and reached out for the metal wall to steady myself. The doctor backed off, his right hand disappearing into the now open front of his coat.

Weapon.

The guard should have done the same, but instead recovered himself and tried to land a clumsy left hook.

I could barely stand. But I could lead this lamb to the slaughter.