Beatrix took her finger out of the trigger guard and gripped the gun barrel tightly, using the butt to bludgeon the man nearest to her. The second man turned, reaching for a pistol on a table just out of reach, but Beatrix closed on him faster than he could move. She balanced on her left leg, lashed her right foot into his gut, and then, as he jack-knifed, she kicked straight up, the blow catching the man square on the chin. He dropped like a stone, collapsing onto the first man in an untidy mess of arms and legs.

Beatrix took the gun from the table and ejected the magazine. The first guard had a holstered pistol, and she ejected the magazine from that one, too.

“Hello? Is someone there?”

She pocketed the magazines and turned to the two doors.

“Hello?” the voice came again.

The voice was muffled, coming from behind one of the doors.

“Hello?”

She went to the door. “What’s your name?” she said.

“Mackenzie West.”

“Alright, Mackenzie, I’m here to get you out. I’m going to need you to stand as far away from the door as possible. I’m going to blast it open. Understand?”

“I understand.”

She took the Cordtex detonation cord and a roll of sturdy double-sided tape from her pack and fixed the cord to the outline of the door, leaving a pigtail at the floor end. She primed the charge and backed out to the stairs to take cover.

“Ready?”

“I’m ready.”

“Breaching in three, two, one . . .”

She fired the charge. The explosion was not large, but it was contained and amplified in the enclosed basement. There was a loud crump, a sudden discharge of dust and smoke, and then the ringing sound of the metal door as it fell to the floor.

Beatrix rounded the corner with her gun halfway up.

She recognised Mackenzie West from the picture that Pope had shown her. He was dirty, and his face, like Faik al-Kaysi’s, bore the evidence of several beatings. There were bruises of different colours, some newer than the others.

He stumbled away from the wall, a fine coating of dust all over his body.

“Are you alright?”

He coughed and nodded.

“My name is Beatrix Rose. I’ve been sent to get you out. I know what’s happened to you, why they’ve locked you up.”

“We gotta get out. They’ll kill me before they let me go.”

“We are getting out. Are you fit to walk?”

“I think so.”

“Stay behind me.”

The radio hissed and fizzed. “Twelve, One. Copy?”

“One, Twelve. Go ahead.”

“We’ve got trouble. A car just pulled up . . . wait, shit, there’s another. Correction: two cars just pulled up, I’m counting four, five, six men, all armed.”

“Have they seen you?”

“Negative.”