Whoever it was, they were slightly shorter than she was, and trim, though it was difficult to assess their physical shape because of the heavy black combat fatigues they wore. Likewise, the face was unrecognisable beneath a black knitted balaclava, though a couple of slots for vision allowed a pair of blue eyes to fix on Lorna with electric intensity. At the same time, the prisoner was jolted to see that the masked figure had drawn a knife: a large one, a hunting-knife maybe, with a cross-guard hilt and a partially serrated cutting edge.

In a moment of head-spinning realisation, Lorna understood the true depths of her peril. She was going abroad as an unwilling export? No such luck.

The newcomer drove the knife forward, full on as though to impale her through the midriff.

For all her sport, Lorna had only done basic martial arts, but it was sufficient for her to sweep her left arm down and parry the blow open-handed. What she wasn’t expecting was for the newcomer’s other hand to flash forward at the same time, clench into a fist and club her on the jaw. Dazed, Lorna was flung back against the wall, the impact knocking the wind out of her. The newcomer pulled the knife back, clenching its hilt tightly, as though to inflict a proper, downward stab-wound. Lorna threw herself forward, grappling with her assailant chest-to-chest. They tottered into the middle of the room, where the newcomer pivoted at the waist and flung Lorna to the floor.

Winded again, panting hard, she crab-crawled away, glancing over her shoulder. The newcomer’s eyes blazed with anger. Clearly, Lorna’s resistance had come as a surprise.

This gave her new heart, and she sprang to her feet as her opponent advanced, spinning on one leg, attempting a roundhouse kick. Alas, she wasn’t expert enough in this field; her leg was caught and slashed across the shin with a single, brutal stroke of the blade. Lorna squealed like an animal, but as much in fear as pain. She danced on one foot as the knife came at her midriff again, before dropping onto her back, twisting over and scuttling forward, yanking her trapped foot loose, and planting both hands on the bed to lever herself upright.

She turned just in time, as the blade swept at her chest. Again, she parried the blow, following with a forearm smash, catching her opponent in the throat. Grunting in shock, the masked figure toppled backward, sliding in the blood spattering the tiled floor.