Tom let himself be taken down to the mat, falling into the half-guard. Luka pressed his weight across Tom’s chest, trying but failing to get full control. It was an easy escape for Tom: he was much faster and fitter than the bigger man. Tom quickly got an elbow-lock in place—which he could have easily finished the bout with—but he kept it loose enough to allow Luka to escape and move into a dominant position. The bout continued in that way for a good six minutes: Tom allowing Luka to nearly win several times, before escaping and turning the tables for a brief moment. It prolonged the bout, but Tom knew he could have won several times over.

When Tom felt that Luka was tiring badly and at the end of his stamina, he finally allowed himself to be caught in a rear-choke, submitting with a double-tap of his hand on Luka’s arm. Luka rolled off him with a huge gasp, exhausted. Tom exaggerated his breathing to match his opponent, pretending that it had taken him to the edge rather than just been a mild workout.

Luka looked delighted. ‘Jesus, man, you’re as tough as Ivan said. I struggled to beat you, took everything I know.’ His sweaty face shone bright-red.

‘Well done,’ Tom gasped. ‘You’re a good fighter. I thought I had you once or twice.’

Both stood and shook hands. ‘Come on, man; let’s go and have a drink,’ said Luka.

After showering and changing, both men left the gym. Ivan had excused himself, saying he had to see his woman, which suited Tom just fine.

They entered the Angel pub opposite the Tube station and both ordered pints of lager. Luka led Tom to a nearby table that was already occupied by a man of a similar size and build to Luka. Aleks Branko: Tom recognised him from the briefing photographs.

Luka introduced Tom to his brother. ‘Aleks, this is Tomo, the first worthy opponent I’ve had for some time. I still kicked his ass though, eh, Tomo? This is Aleks, my older brother.’

Aleks fixed Tom with an even, unsmiling gaze. His face was scarred with old acne marks and he had the same blue eyes and stocky build as his brother. The coolness of his light eyes and his grim expression gave him an aura of barely-disguised cruelty.

Aleks nodded in Tom’s general direction and said to his brother in Serbian, ‘Who is he and where’s he from?’

‘He told you,’ Tom replied in Serbian. ‘I’m Tomo. I’m from Glasgow, but I was born in Sarajevo.’

Mild surprise spread across Aleks’ face. ‘I wasn’t told you were a countryman. Bosniak?’

‘Bosnian Serb, my friend, I just look a little dark; I think I’ve some Roma blood. But I’m an orphan; I don’t really know.’

‘You fight well, Tomo; where did you train?’ asked Luka.