Again, Brodie complied, handing his Browning 9mm out through the window, where it was snatched away from him and tossed into the nearest bushes.

‘Okay …’ The bandit backed up a half-foot or so. ‘First gear … into the layby. Very, verrry slowly. You hit the gas, pal … I riddle this car end to end.’

As before, Brodie did as instructed, easing the van slowly off the road and into the layby, the bandit walking alongside him, the barrel of the SIG levelled through the open window. Once they were in there, Brodie saw an open space in the hedgerow at the back, beyond which a small parking area nestled between trees.

‘Keep going,’ he was told. ‘Slow as fuck. Don’t give me a reason.’

Brodie continued to ease his vehicle forward through the gap, parking on the rugged ground beyond.

‘Okay,’ the bandit said. ‘Get the fuck out. And bring your keys.’

Brodie got out, arms raised.

‘Round to the other side of the van. Stand with your pal.’

Brodie edged his way around the vehicle, eyes riveted on the barrel of the SIG. It was the most vicious close-quarter weapon he knew. German-made, he’d occasionally seen it deployed in combat, usually in the hands of terrorists or guerrillas. He and Culvin were both wearing vests under their uniforms, but that wouldn’t make any difference at this range. One blast, and they’d be Swiss cheese.

The second, shorter bandit had frogmarched Culvin into the parking area behind the van, and now had him up against its flank. Having already extricated his captive’s pistol, he was in the process of hurling it into the nearest undergrowth.

A tense silence followed. At mid-afternoon, the road nearby, nothing more than a country lane between farms, remained largely empty. Only birds twittering in the trees disturbed the peace. But even if someone came along, the robbers and their victims would be well-shielded by the partial wall of reddish-gold thickets at the back of the layby.

‘You clueless twats!’ Culvin snarled, cheeks crimson. ‘You got any idea who it is you’re stealing from?’

Brodie wanted to tell him to shut it, but was wary of appearing too compliant. Assuming they got through this, he’d have enough explaining to do as it was.

Meanwhile, the taller bandit said nothing as he patted them down for further weapons, pocketing both their mobile phones. The shorter bandit simply watched, SIG levelled.

‘Hey … shit-for-brains!’ Culvin shouted as the taller one stepped back. ‘I said you got any idea who you’re fucking robbing?’