Her eyes rolled towards his, the eyeballs moving slowly in their sockets. Porter had seen eyes like that before. There were plenty of junkies out on the streets, and they all had dilated pupils and eyeballs they were incapable of moving properly. It was one of the ways of spotting them, and Porter was always quick to steer clear of the crackheads sleeping rough on the streets: they were violent and dangerous, and usually so out of their heads they would attack you for no reason. Her eyes were exactly the same: slow, empty, full of pain, and devoid of any hope. But it wasn’t any kind of drug that had made her like that. It was the bastard standing right next to him.

Porter clenched his fists. It would take a man of iron self-discipline not to land a punch on Hassad’s face right now. And he had never been a man who had counted self-control among whatever qualities he might possess.

It was clear Katie Dartmouth was finding it hard to focus. Her mouth was immobile, and her face was too caked in blood and sweat for any sort of expression to be read into it. But you could see from her eyes she was confused and terrified. The last few days had taught her to greet every new moment with dread and loathing, and this one was no different. She was looking at Porter, struggling to focus, and yet as she did so, she seemed to flinch. ‘Are you …?’

She was struggling to speak, but it sounded more like the strangled cry of a dying animal than any noise a human might make. Again, Porter could feel a wave of anger welling up inside him. Her lips were so dry, and her throat so weak that it was clearly painful for her even to finish the sentence. ‘Are you … ?’ she started again, this time trying to move her head upwards slightly so that she could see him properly.

‘I’m English, yes,’ said Porter, looking straight at her.

For the first time it was possible to see something other than despair in her eyes. Not hope exactly, Porter realised. That would be putting it too strongly. But there was some strength there that he hadn’t seen when he’d first walked in: a sign that she might be able to struggle through the next few hours at least.

‘Who … ?’

Suddenly she started to cough violently. Her whole body had become badly dehydrated over the last few days and as she started to speak, her throat seized up. Porter could see the shame and humiliation in her eyes as the saliva started to dribble down the front of her mouth. Without being able to lift either of her hands, there was nothing she could do to stop it.

‘Who are you?’ she said finally when she managed to bring the coughing under control.

‘I’m the best news you’ve had since you got here,’ said Porter.