‘How are we doing back there?’ he shouted over the rattling engine noise.

‘He is dead,’ said Saleem.

Ben twisted around in his seat and saw Jack Buchanan’s lifeless eyes staring straight back at him. It wasn’t the first gunshot wound that had done it, as became obvious when he slumped over. He’d taken a round to the back of the head during the escape.

‘I am hurt too,’ Saleem said. And it was an understatement. Blood was pouring fast out of him, leaking all over the seats to mingle with the broken glass.

‘I can’t stop,’ Ben said.

‘Drive, drive. I will be okay,’ Saleem replied. But he didn’t sound okay. Ben drove on, coaxing every last ounce of forward momentum he could from the damaged engine. The rattle was getting worse. Still nothing in the mirror, though it couldn’t last. Up ahead he spotted a smaller road branching off to the left, and took it. It was even more rutted and holed, sometimes covered by encroaching bushes, here and there blocked by boulders or completely subsided into loose dirt. The van’s suspension was being pushed to the limits of its endurance.

Ben pounded relentlessly along the track, totally focused on reaching safety, keeping his mind closed to the state of his badly injured surviving passenger, and to the growing agony in his left arm. After another three kilometres with still nothing appearing in his mirror he turned off again and headed across open country. Their pursuers must have struck out along the main road from Ghurdak and it surely wouldn’t be long before they realised their mistake and came doubling back to hunt for them. The M1117 armoured car could hit speeds of over 60 miles an hour. The ailing van was having increasing trouble maintaining much more than half that speed. Ben kept pushing it, but the rattle was louder than ever, the engine had started coughing and misfiring, and now there was ominous black smoke beginning to pour out from under the buckled bonnet lid.

Ben realised that Saleem had gone very quiet back there. He couldn’t see him in the mirror any longer. ‘Saleem?’

‘I am still here,’ came a feeble reply. Saleem had slumped down flat on the seat next to Buchanan’s body. Ben was relieved to hear his voice.

‘Hold on. You’re going to be okay.’