With a bit of work he shifted himself into a kneeling position. He noticed how the light brightened or dimmed depending on which way he turned his head, which suggested the presence of either a window or a light. He became increasingly aware of background noises, which resolved into the rumble of machinery, and the sound of voices coming from a considerable distance.

He shouted for attention, his dry throat feeling as sore as if he had swallowed a razor. He suddenly felt an urgent need to urinate. Somehow, not being able to see began pushing him close to the edge of outright panic.

He swallowed with some difficulty before making a second attempt at shouting for help. What came out sounded more like the cry of a trapped or wounded animal than anything that belonged in a human throat. He yelled yet again, even though he had already concluded no help would be forthcoming.

Saul froze as he heard the sound of a door opening, then closing again, followed by the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps. He gasped with shock as a pair of hands grabbed him roughly and dragged him to his feet. He kicked out instinctively, and felt something hard slam against the back of his head with sufficient force for his knees to buckle.

Once more, the same hands hauled him upright, and this time he didn’t resist. As he was dragged away, the glimmer of light first faded and then intensified, and he was aware, from the echo of his own footsteps, that he was being taken from one room to another. Several doors opened and closed before he was finally shoved against a wall.

A moment later he heard the familiar click of a weapon’s safety catch being released, followed by the chill sensation of a gun barrel being pressed up against one side of his head.

‘Please,’ he managed to mumble, ‘you don’t need to do this. Just tell me what you want.’

No reply was forthcoming, as a second pair of hands loosened his belt buckle, before yanking his trousers down around his knees. Despite the gun pressed to his temple, Saul tried desperately to twist loose, as sheer panic finally overcame him.

Something hard slammed into his head a second time. A fit of nausea gripped him and he fought the urge to vomit. The two pairs of hands kept him upright, however, then lowered him on to a seat.

Saul became dimly aware of now being seated on a toilet.

‘If you need to take a shit,’ a heavily accented voice murmured very close to his ear, ‘now would be a good time.’

There was something familiar about that voice.

Saul merely nodded, too frightened to say anything more, the air within the bag close and hot, and filled with the smell of his own fear. Groaning with relief, he started to piss.