‘On which subject,’ the taller one said, ‘you!’ He gestured at Brodie with his weapon. ‘I reckon you’ve been around long enough to know that sometimes just going home at night is a win, yeah?’ He drew a roll of material from his back pocket, and when he shook it out, it was a black canvas sack. He threw it at Brodie’s feet. ‘So, open the van … and fill this.’

‘Don’t fucking do it, man,’ Culvin warned him. ‘They want it, let ’em fucking take it.’

But Brodie did exactly as he was told, unlocking the side door and, one by one, sliding the five parcels they’d been carrying into the sack. There was no doubt in his mind that these guys weren’t just opportunists. They’d known in advance that he and Culvin would be armed, they’d known in advance the route they would take; on top of that, they were tooled-up in spectacular form. Their intel and proficiency were of the highest order – in which case they wouldn’t take any chances they didn’t need to; like letting people live if they proved problematic.

It could even be that these guys were so coldly professional they wouldn’t take the chance of leaving witnesses anyway.

Sweat greased Brodie’s brow. He glanced back towards the road, wondering if he could suddenly dash away. But it was all too open; he’d be cut down before he made it into the layby.

The conviction grew on him steadily that he and Marty were done for.

These bastards were robbing the Crew. You didn’t do that, not if you didn’t want to be hunted for the rest of your days. In which case, why would they make life easier for themselves by leaving anyone alive who could talk?

And yet, what else could he do but obey?

As tense as he’d ever been on the battlefield, Sam Brodie placed the last package inside the sack, which was now heavy – there was plenty of cash on today’s delivery run – and humped it around, lurching forward and dumping it at the bandits’ feet.

‘Very good,’ the taller one said. ‘I have to say … I was expecting a bit more trouble from you guys. I don’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.’

‘Put them shooters down and you’ll get more trouble than you can fucking handle,’ Culvin snarled.

The taller bandit ignored him, pointing to the nearest line of trees. There was a ditch running along the edge of it. ‘Over there. Side by side.’

‘Look,’ Brodie said, ‘you got what you came for. Just go, eh?’

‘I said get over there.’

Again, the two gangsters knew they had no choice. But even dull-witted Marty Culvin was sensing his pal’s unease.