‘What the fuck is going on?’ shouted a voice in Serb.

‘Power cut,’ shouted Tom in Serb, not expecting to fool anyone but maybe to introduce some confusion.

He advanced along the hall towards the kitchen with his eye glued to the night-sight on the MP7. As he approached the open door, the flames from the wood burner caused the sight to flare and, momentarily, it was useless. Making an instant decision he allowed the MP7 to drop and catch on the harness under his arm. He moved to his thigh holster and drew the Glock, extending his arms out and pointing the sidearm towards the doorway. He entered the kitchen without hesitation, ready to engage.

He immediately saw the giant Serb—Arken—in the middle of the room, his colossal, meaty arm encircling Cameron’s chest and pulling him tightly in to his body. He was a massive man who dwarfed Tom’s foster father, the man’s head only coming up to chin-height on the Serb. Tom also saw the automatic pistol jammed against Cameron’s temple. The light from the roaring stove bathed the room in an eerie yellow half-light, making their faces dark with dancing shadows.

‘Move one step closer and I’ll put a bullet in his head,’ Arken hissed through his teeth.

Tom froze to the spot. ‘Don’t do anything stupid, Arken. No one needs to get shot here.’ His calm delivery was measured, but unusually, he felt real fear. He couldn’t lose Cameron.

‘Drop the weapon, Novak. Drop it now or they die.’ Arken shook as he spoke, his voice rough as he spat out the words in glottal Serb.

‘Okay, Arken, I’m throwing the pistol now. Don’t do anything stupid.’ Tom tossed the Glock onto the nearby leather armchair.

‘Now the machine gun: get rid of it.’

Tom reached under his arm and unclipped the MP7 sling, the weapon falling to the floor with a clatter.

‘Kick it away towards me,’ the big man said.

Tom propelled the MP7 across the tiled floor with his boot.

‘Arken, we can all walk away from this, but I’m not alone. Your men are dead, and I have backup coming soon.’

‘You’re lying, you fucking pig.’

‘I’m not lying, Arken, how do you think I got up here so quickly?’ Tom’s voice had settled, and he felt a strange calm envelop him. ‘Cameron, Shona, are you okay?’

Both his foster parents’ hands were bound, and both had duct tape across their mouths, but both nodded. Cameron fixed Tom with a direct stare and Tom was sure that he could read something in his eyes, which sparkled in the dancing light from the fire. Almost a trace of fatalistic humour. Cameron was short and wiry, but he was teak-tough after all those years in the Commandos. Shona looked utterly terrified, the shock and horror of events clearly etched across her face.