Porter turned to face him. The last time they had been this close was seventeen years ago when he had been about to plunge a knife into the man’s neck. ‘Let me take her place,’ he said.

Hassad shook his head.

‘You need blood, then take mine,’ growled Porter. ‘If you let her go, then I’ll happily replace her.’

Again, Hassad shook his head. There was no trace of emotion in his eyes. Not even a trace of interest.

‘We need headlines,’ he said flatly. ‘It’s the only weapon your leaders understand. Certainly the only weapon with which we can match them blow for blow. And I’m afraid your face isn’t pretty enough to make the same kind of impact on the television screens.’

‘Then think of the headlines if you release her,’ snapped Porter. ‘You’ll get massive sympathy right throughout the country. And you still have a hostage you can behead if the government doesn’t give in to your demands.’

Hassad paused. In his eyes, Porter reckoned he could see a flicker of interest. His twisted mouth was set in a look of concentration, and Porter knew he had to press home whatever advantage he might briefly have. ‘Just think about it,’ he said. ‘You’d have released Katie, and that would get you a lot of support. I’d be a hero for getting her out of this hellhole. And now it would be my life on the line. The pressure to save me from execution would be intense. You’d be closer to your goal than you can ever imagine.’

Porter was watching Hassad’s eyes, and he could see the proposal dying even as he spoke. The man was losing interest, turning away. ‘Interesting,’ he said finally. ‘But not possible.’

‘Why the hell not?’ said Porter.

He grabbed hold of the fabric of Hassad’s T-shirt, but immediately regretted doing so. Don’t show too much emotion, he told himself. Don’t let the bastards get to you. Just get closer and closer to them until you can start to win them over. Hassad touched the side of hand that was holding on to his T-shirt disdainfully, and Porter instantly withdrew it. ‘Because it would show weakness,’ he said. ‘You’ve been a soldier yourself, so you surely know that to show the slightest flexibility, to admit even the possibility of doubt, would be mistake. We are the underdog, remember, and we have to be harder and if necessary crueller than our enemy if we are to get anywhere.’

Porter was about to reply, but Hassad was already leaving. ‘One of our men will collect you shortly,’ he said.

The door shut behind him, and Porter was confined and alone. He noticed at once that the door wasn’t locked. It was just a relatively flimsy piece of wood, wedged into a frame that had been built into the rock. It didn’t have a lock, not even a bolt. Even if it did, one strong heave from the shoulders would probably take the whole thing down. Porter tapped against it twice. Chipboard, he decided. Cheap, and weak. If I wanted to, I could walk straight down this corridor, and find my way out of this place.