I have to reach Rifat before they do.

Rifat was Mansour’s brother. His youngest, twelve years his junior. He was also his roommate, sharing a cramped bedsit that was already too small for a single occupant. Like his brother, Rifat was a refugee. And like Mansour, Rifat was also employed as a baggage handler in Heathrow Airport.

But unlike Mansour, Rifat knew nothing about Flight PA16. Mansour had tried to protect his brother from that, and so Rifat had no way to know the danger that was coming.

Don’t be home, Mansour thought to himself as he continued to run. A desperate hope. Please don’t be home.

It was all he could think. The mantra that drove him on.

Don’t be home.

Mansour would never remember how long he ran. It could not have been more than three, perhaps four minutes. But it was flat out, as fast as he had ever moved, and so it felt like so much more. Even with adrenaline flooding his system he could only fight the exhaustion for so long. His legs could only be pushed so far.

As he turned the corner into his own street, they reached their limit.

Unable to take the strain of the hard turn, Mansour’s right knee buckled, sending him heavily to the ground. He fell forward and, too tired to react quickly, his forehead hit the pavement hard.

The impact cut deep into the skin above Mansour’s right eye and left him crumpled in a heap, dazed and hidden in shadow.

It also saved his life.

If Mansour had not fallen he would have been ten, maybe twenty seconds quicker. He would also have been upright, and so much more visible. But he was neither of these. He had fallen, and so he remained unseen as he watched his deepest fears unfold.

Three men were climbing the steps of the dilapidated townhouse where Mansour and Rifat had their bedsit. Mansour recognised only one of them, but that one was enough. It was a face he had sworn he would never forget.

The man’s name was Romeo. Or at least that was what he had called himself on the two occasions they had met. On those occasions Romeo had seemed to be the boss, and that fact now made him the devil in Mansour’s own personal hell.

Romeo reached the top of the stairs. His two companions stayed one step lower, further exaggerating the height difference that already existed between them and their six-foot-six superior. One of them read something from a scrap of paper, before Romeo pressed one of the building’s intercom buttons.

My buzzer, Mansour thought. Rifat’s buzzer.

He suppressed the urge to climb to his feet. To reveal himself. There was still a chance Rifat was not home. And even if he was, Mansour could not be sure what Romeo would do. Whether seeing Mansour would put Rifat at even greater risk.

For a moment there was no response to the buzzer and Mansour felt his hopes grow.