Porter had a fraction of a second. That was all the time available to determine success or failure. He kicked against the stone floor, and threw himself across the few metres that separated the doorway from the straw mattress.

He landed hard on top of Hassad. Immediately, the Arab woke up, looking straight at Porter, his eyes ablaze with anger. But it was too late. Porter was lying right across him. He was a big man, with at least a fifty-pound weight advantage on Hassad, and the sheer bulk of his body was pinning him down to the floor. Porter could feel a heady sense of elation surging through him. Almost as good as double vodka, he told himself. Right now, I’ve got this bastard exactly where I want him. And now he’s going to help me get Katie out of here.

Porter drew back his right hand just a few inches, hovering close to Hassad’s neck. His blade was sharp, it would only need the minimum of force to break open the man’s skin. His hand held steady and his eyes darted across the man’s body, scanning it the same way a butcher glances across a carcass, looking for the best places to cut up the meat. He could feel a surge of anger running through his veins. I’ve waited too long for this, he told himself grimly. Far too bloody long.

He jabbed the knife forwards, using the strength in his elbow. It collided with the skin, nicking open a cut, and suddenly the blade was crimson with blood. In the same moment, however, Hassad had rolled his head to one side, stretching enough of his neck muscles to deflect the worst of the attack. Porter was still lying flat on top of the man, crushing him into the straw bedding, and making it impossible for him to move. ‘Stay still, you murdering raghead scum,’ Porter spat viciously.

He could see the fear in the man’s eyes, and smell the sweat pouring off him. It was the same look he’d seen seventeen years ago, the one that had persuaded him to spare the life of a small frightened boy. But this time it was the expression of a man, not a kid, and rather than sympathy it aroused only contempt. This time you’re going to do exactly what I tell you, Porter thought. And no mistake.

‘You killed my mates after I spared your life. Now I’m going to kill you, you bastard. Now take it like a bloody man …’

Hassad bucked forward. He was desperately trying to loosen Porter’s vice-like grip on him, but the dead weight lying across his chest made it impossible for him to get up enough strength to free himself.

‘I didn’t kill anyone, I swear it,’ Hassad pleaded.

‘Don’t give me that bollocks, you Arab scum,’ Porter hissed. ‘I spared your life once before, and you took out three of my mates.’

‘I didn’t kill anyone,’ Hassad squealed.

‘You lying bastard.’