For a moment, Porter just sat there, immobilised. Fear and shock had frozen him. Then up above, he could hear the dull rattle of gunfire cranking up again. Whatever kind of danger he was in, it was far from over.

He stood unsteadily to his feet, taking a second to restore his sense of balance.

Reaching behind his neck, he grabbed the blindfold and ripped it free from his face. He blinked once, then twice, taking time to adjust to the dim, fading light of the cell. The wall that led up and out towards the courtyard had been smashed down by a big Mercedes Unimog truck – there was dust and rubble everywhere where the huge front end of the vehicle had punched a hole straight through the bricks.

Porter glanced across to the man standing before him, the man who had just rescued him.

Many years had passed since he had last laid eyes on him. He had grown older, turned from a boy into a man, and the years had hardened as well as aged him.

But there was no mistaking the face. It was burned into Porter’s memory, the way a branding iron is burned into the flesh of a bull.

Hassad.

SEVENTEEN

Hassad grabbed hold of Porter by the shoulder. ‘We haven’t much time,’ he hissed. ‘Let’s get the fuck out of here.’

Porter’s eyes were still blinking. Dust and debris were filling the room, and the massive engine on the Unimog was still roaring. Porter’s legs were weak and his head was still spinning. He’d kicked back the chair, and glanced only briefly at the executioner: the man was lying flat on the floor, with his sword at his side, his body punctured by three precisely aimed bullets that had smashed through his chest and into his heart.

‘Just move,’ snapped Hassad, louder this time.

Hassad was already getting into the driver’s seat. Porter rushed round the side and climbed into the cabin. He could feel some blood trickling along his gums where the executioner had tried to wrench out one of his teeth, and he had a dozen different cuts and bruises, but otherwise he was in OK shape.

‘Let’s go,’ he muttered.

Hassad hit the reverse gear on the Unimog into position, then tapped his foot on the accelerator. A big piece of machinery built mainly for farmers, the Unimog was like a cross between a pickup truck and a tractor. It had big tyres, four-wheel-drive and an engine powerful enough to kick down a building when it needed to.

It started to edge into reverse. The route it had taken had smashed its way from the courtyard into the room where Porter had been held prisoner, and now it was taking the same route back again. The vehicle shook and shuddered as its tyres crunched backwards over the rubble, but it held steady.

As Hassad flung the steering wheel to the right, turning it swiftly round, Porter looked over to the courtyard. Outside the building, a Honda CR-V had been turned on its side, and was being used as a makeshift wall by four men. By the way they greeted him, Porter guessed they were Hassad’s blokes. They were staying close to the underside of the car. All of them were dressed in black, and had neatly trimmed beards and moustaches and close-cropped hair. Two of them had dark glasses pulled down over their eyes. All four had AK-47s gripped tight to their chests, as well as hand pistols and big, lethal hunting knives strapped into their belts. Porter didn’t have much idea what they did to the enemy, but they certainly frightened him.