Alberto smiled to himself as he took in Jack’s weakened state, stepping forward confidently and aiming a thrust at Jack’s throat. He wasn’t prepared for the sudden flash of the pole as it crashed down onto his forearm, sending him staggering against the desk. But the force of the impact snatched the pole from Jack’s hand, and it went skidding across the floor to the other side of the office.

Pain now added an edge to Alberto’s blood-lust. ‘Come on then, Jack Warr,’ he shouted. ‘Let’s get this over with!’

Time slowed as Alberto charged again. Without a weapon, Jack knew he only had one option left. He raised his left forearm in front of him, hoping that Alberto would take the bait, then felt a searing pain as the knife plunged into the muscle. Ignoring the pain, Jack twisted his arm so Alberto’s grip on the knife loosened, then grabbed it out of his hand before landing a solid punch squarely on the bastard’s jaw. He heard the crack of bone as Alberto fell like a dead weight and Jack immediately knew that he was the kind of cocky, arrogant prick who was great at dishing it out, but no good at taking it. Jack crawled on top of Alberto and punched him again and again as the sound of distant sirens reached his ears.

Jack stopped, more from exhaustion than from any desire to spare Alberto further punishment. He closed his eyes, and the pain from his wounded forearm began to force itself into his consciousness. Suddenly he felt a hand closing around his throat. Alberto was not out for the count after all. He stabbed the knife into Alberto’s shoulder and the pressure around his windpipe slackened, then suddenly his head exploded in pain as Alberto landed a punch on the wound from the crowbar. He felt himself rolling sideways onto the floor as fresh blood pulsed from the wound and a wave of blackness threatened to overwhelm him.

After what seemed like minutes, Jack managed to open his eyes and saw Alberto struggling to his knees. With a huge effort, Jack managed to do the same, until both men, exhausted and in varying degrees of pain, were kneeling on either side of De Voe’s corpse. Alberto’s mouth hung open, allowing blood to drip steadily onto his shirt that was now more red than white. He dragged himself to his feet, scooping up the discarded metal pole from the floor as he did so. Jack painfully followed suit, and the two men stood facing each other, both now armed with each other’s weapons. Alberto raised the metal pole high above his head and charged forwards. Jack tried to raise the buckle knife but his arm didn’t seem to be working. He braced himself for the impact, knowing that one more solid blow to his head would be the end of him . . .