‘Uh-huh. Regular cavalry.’ She regarded him sternly. ‘D’you think I’d walk out on you, just ’cause you’re a dumb jerk with no taste?’

He smiled to himself. ‘Not for a second.’

‘Good. Else you’d be a dumb jerk with no nuts, too.’

The ropes came free, and Tom gratefully massaged his tender wrists. ‘Jicaque’s here to stop the fight?’

Jasmine shrugged. ‘Sure hope he’s got somethin’ planned. Him and the others are waiting in the lobby, out of sight. I came here alone – those asshole generals didn’t take no notice of me dressed like this.’ They crossed to the door and she indicated the unconscious thug who’d been guarding his door. ‘Not till it was too late, anyway. Come on.’

As they sprinted down the corridor, Tom heard a plaintive beep-beep sound from Jasmine’s wristwatch.

‘Midnight,’ she breathed.

g

Kate was almost glad of the thick tape over her mouth –the consequences should she hurl right now was about the only thing keeping her turning stomach in check.

She was half-buried beneath a pile of raw meat. It was hard to breathe, but maybe that was a blessing since the stench was so disgusting. The feel of the cold, dead flesh on her skin was almost unbearable. Her clothes were saturated with rancid blood, and the weight of it all was crushing her against the chicken wire hammock, the cold metal biting into her back.

And now the gladiators were entering this cut-price coliseum, herded in by a handful of Swagger’s goons armed with automatic weapons. The prisoners shambled in, two hundred or more, ranging from kids no older than Rico to bag lady types in their fifties.

Kate stared on in horror as the people split off into groups and took up position around the rink, some directly beneath her, facing each other in groups of twenty or so. They were silent, their sallow faces blank, their sunken eyes dark and burning. The armed guards ranged themselves around the rink. A spiteful charge was building in the air.

‘Listen up, everyone.’ Swagger’s voice reverberated around the arena. ‘Before we begin tonight’s spectacle … a few choice words from our glorious leader: Papa Takapa.’

There was no applause, no real reaction at all. A few of the fighters turned to gaze upon the man they were fighting for, the scrawny albino who stood in the front row of the bleachers beside Swagger. A few rows back, Kate saw her parents. She squirmed, tried to rock the hammock, to get herself noticed; she would do anything to delay the proceedings. But she could barely move beneath the mass of raw meat. No one was going to see a thing unless the people directly below looked up and saw her.

And if they did … what would happen then?