‘Where are you taking us?’ said Karene to the foot soldier. The young man didn’t reply and so Karene repeated her question. ‘Tell me, where are you taking us?’

Bloom could see through the cabin window that they were in open water now. They were alone and at the mercy of two armed men, at least one of whom seemed happiest when inflicting pain on children. Seraphine had said that she was disappointed that George wasn’t one of them. But what had she meant? That he wasn’t a good enough psychopath? He certainly possessed the calm, cold nature and, given he was clearly proud of his bomb attack, the requisite lack of empathy or remorse. But perhaps he was just an ordinary person who’d experienced enough trauma to render him detached. Or maybe he had such a strong belief in his cause that it overrode any doubt or guilt. It was hard to know. And it was also a moot point. All she needed to know right now was that he was prepared to act in a ruthless and self-serving manner.

She used her elbow to check the position of the syringe in her trouser pocket. It felt good to have it there, even though she had no idea how or when she would use it. She wished she had Jameson here. He had been alone in inhospitable countries, living a lie, manipulating the trust of others for his own gain, participating in the destruction of empires and lives. The thought brought a fresh wave of indignation. And, after all that, he had the cheek to judge her for her supposedly psychopathic tendencies? If she ever got out of here, she’d make sure to point that out to him.

‘What kind of gun is that?’ Jake said to the foot soldier. ‘Dad used to take me to the gun range. I was only allowed to fire basic rifles and once a five millimetre.’

The foot soldier didn’t respond.

‘Have you ever fired an AK-47? I love those. They’re really cool. Did you know the guy who invented them wanted to be a poet when he grew up?’

The foot soldier raised an eyebrow.

‘Jake?’ said Karene in a low voice, a warning.

‘Are you a good shooter? I bet you are. You wouldn’t have this job otherwise.’

‘Jakey,’ said Karene again.

The foot soldier was looking at Jake now.

‘Is everyone good with guns where you’re from?’

The foot soldier smirked.

‘That’s so cool. Dad would never tell me much about stuff like that. I know he learned to shoot but he wouldn’t ever talk about it. How old were you when you learned?’

‘Nine,’ said the foot soldier.

‘What was your first gun?’