‘I know. I get it. I’ll hold her hand down. You have my word.’

George hesitated and then cut the cable tie around Bloom’s wrists. She moved to kneel on the floor next to Sophie. From this position, she could hear the distant, tinny sound of someone shouting from within the phone. She pressed Sophie’s hands firmly on to the floor. It struck her that the kindest thing might be to administer the ketamine to Sophie as an anaesthetic to knock her out, but she dismissed the idea quickly. She just needed the right moment. She needed George to focus on his task.

‘Sophie,’ she said. ‘Look at Karene. Karene will help. It’s the oldest trick in the book. Distraction.’ She hoped Karene was paying attention, that she remembered that the oldest trick was to divide and conquer, that she would know what to do. Their lives depended on it.

90

The sound of Sophie crying and pleading cut through Harry’s own pain. He couldn’t let these animals lay a finger on his girl. He had to do something. He stood, righted his chair and straightened his back. Karene offered herself in Sophie’s place and Harry felt a surge of admiration. He might not remember her, but he didn’t doubt that this formidable woman loved him.

‘What is this?’ Harry shouted. ‘Come at me. Real men don’t hurt children.’

Bello reached behind his back and produced a hunting knife. He held it above his head. ‘You want me to cut you? You think that will stop me cutting her? It won’t. Give me Alina’s location.’

Harry lunged and the scuffle that followed was nothing like the fight scenes on television. There were no choreographed actions with Harry’s blows hitting their target perfectly each time and Bello’s repeatedly missing. But Harry managed to avoid the blade, and he felt empowered by adrenaline, or fear, or simply the sound of his daughter needing him, and somehow managed to knock the knife from Bello’s grip.

The men ended up on the floor, a mess of flailing arms and legs. Every punch that landed on Bello felt too weak and those Harry received in return felt like freight trains. But he was holding his own and he would not – could not – give in. All he could feel was the bottomless pit of fury within him, fuelled by his love for his children, his anger at being here, and the frustration of having lost precious years of his life.

They continued like that, grappling, trying to gain the upper hand, until Seraphine cleared her throat and said, ‘Ahem? I think someone wants you, Antony.’ She held out the phone and a voice from the other end said, ‘Can you hear me, Sir? We are ready.’