Jafari muttered, ‘This way,’ pointing nervously into the doorway from which the two terrorists had appeared. Ben shoved him through it and they followed him down an even narrower corridor, which led through a crumbly stone archway into the wider open space of a maintenance bay where two ancient trains stood partially dismantled on a section of track that probably hadn’t been used since before the outbreak of World War II. Only the scuffed tracks of footprints on the dusty concrete walkway by the tracks gave away that anyone had been down here in decades.

Jafari stopped at a grimy, riveted steel door inset into the wall of the maintenance bay. His eyes bulged nervously as he threw a look back at Ben and Roth, signalling ‘This is it. What do I do?’

Ben set his MP5’s fire selector to fully auto and heard the small click as Roth did the same. Then Ben took his left hand off his gun, made a fist in the air and mimicked Knock, knock, knock.

Jafari hesitated, swallowed hard and then knocked three times.

Chapter 41

Jafari’s three knocks made a hollow clang on the steel door that echoed off the tunnel walls.

A gruff voice from behind the door called in Arabic, ‘Who’s there?’

Jafari called back hoarsely, ‘Hasan Jafari. Nazim sent me to check on the hostage.’

Silence from behind the door. It was an anxious moment. If the men inside became suspicious and called Nazim to check, assuming they had any phone reception down here, then the jig was up. It could spell disaster for the hostage, if indeed she was still in one piece. Worse, Ben knew that he and Roth could easily become trapped inside the tunnels as Nazim mobilised his troops to block their escape routes. Roth’s face, half-lit in the murky glow of a wall lamp, showed that he was thinking the same grim thoughts.

The silence dragged on for three long, painful seconds. Then the gruff voice from behind the steel door said in Arabic, ‘Okay,’ and Ben felt the relief melt through him.

Next came the grinding sound of a long, heavy deadbolt being drawn open from inside the door. The rusty hinges squealed as the door opened a crack, and a bearded face peeked out. Recognising the figure of Jafari standing there, the guy pushed the door open the rest of the way. Brighter light shone out from inside, silhouetting the outline of a large, burly man with another stubby Kalashnikov hanging across his chest.