Before Smiler could pull the trigger he grunted and coughed, then dropped to his knees. A large, ugly, whaling harpoon was sticking out of his chest.

His men were caught off guard and looked around in panic. Standing at the top of the steps was the giant figure of Tree-Trunk, Zoltan’s Samoan lieutenant.

A second later there was a burst of gunfire and men shimmied down from the opening in the roof, unfurling ropes like great black spiders.

Another hail of bullets from the front entrance convinced Smiler’s men that the game was up. They threw down their weapons and put their hands in the air.

A man appeared through the fog of gunpowder smoke, clutching a Beretta.

It was Zoltan the Magyar. He looked down at the lifeless body of the Scotsman.

‘I think he got the point!’ he said.

He saluted James.

‘You are always getting into trouble, James,’ he said. ‘What are we going to do with you?’

The following morning, James was sitting outside the cave on a tree stump feeling empty and numb. The battle had been a brief, insane explosion of terror that had drained him of all emotion.

He had had to sleep in the open. It was impossible to stay in the cave. The smell of blood was too strong.

‘Here, James, I brought you this.’ James looked up to see Zoltan, carrying his battered suitcase. He slung it at James’s feet.

‘I thought you might need some clothes,’ said Zoltan.

‘Thank you,’ said James flatly.

‘You left it in the changing room at the stadium after the fight,’ said Zoltan. ‘I’ve been looking after it for you.’

‘How did you know where I was?’ said James.

‘We followed Ugo’s men. Word went round that you had escaped. I hoped to get to you before they did, but Smiler surprised us. He attacked you at night while we were sleeping. The sound of the gunfire told us what was happening. We were a little late in arriving or we would have stopped the bloodshed sooner. Your friends lost many men. I am sorry. It’s lucky they only brought one of these.’

James saw that Zoltan was carrying the Thompson sub-machine gun.

‘Ugo is such a miser,’ said the pirate. ‘I gave him a crate of these things and he sends his men out with only one, in case they lose them.’ He sat down and ran his fingers over the black metal and polished brown wood. ‘She is beautiful, isn’t she?’ he said. ‘Beautiful but evil. A machine for killing. And so simple. The gas released by the blast of the bullet being fired shunts the bolt back, releasing the spent cartridge and loading another one. The whole thing is powered by gunpowder. So simple and so deadly.’

He fired a burst into a nearby tree and watched as a shower of shredded leaves and twigs rained down.