Even as he walked, the questions were starting to loop through Porter’s mind.

Who the hell fired that missile? The British? The Israelis?

But why?

If they knew where we were, why not just send in a Regiment unit to try and break us out?

Whoever fired that monster must have been reckoning to kill everyone in the mine.

Including us.

As they reached the top of the pathway, Porter laid Katie on the ground. Up over the ridge, the first glimmers of dawn were starting to break through the night sky. It must be five thirty, maybe six in the morning, Porter thought.

Saturday.

The day scheduled for the execution.

But the danger was far from over. Indeed, it might be just beginning.

I’ve no idea where the border is. Or how far we are from safety …

He knelt down and wiped some of the soot away from Katie’s forehead with the palm of his hand. Christ, we better keep this girl away from a mirror for the next couple of days, he thought. Her eyes were like a couple of squashed tomatoes, and her complexion had turned the mucky grey of school-dinner stew. There were scabs across her cheek where she had been cut. And her body was wasting into little more than a skeleton with some ill-fitting skin stretched over it.

‘We’re getting you home,’ he said.

‘Thanks,’ she croaked.

‘Just hang in there, that’s all.’

They had paused just where the mine met an old road, made from broken and chipped concrete. Porter was already looking at Hassad suspiciously, wondering if he could be trusted to keep his word or if he was about to call out to his mate. ‘Over there,’ hissed Hassad, pointing towards a tin shack with half its roof blown away. ‘There’s a car we can use. We stashed a few around the edge of this mine in case we needed a quick escape. The keys are left in them, and there’s fuel in the tank.’

Only another twenty metres, Porter thought. They were even further from the Hezbollah guards now, and unlikely to be spotted. But he wasn’t sure Katie should be carried any longer. ‘Bring it here,’ he muttered.

Hassad jogged across the road. Again, Porter wondered if he’d escape. Maybe go and get his mates and come and capture Katie again. Or just escape in the car. He checked the AK-47 on his back, making sure there was still some ammo left in its magazine. If he had to, he’d take the bastard down, and escape on foot himself. But Hassad had given his word when he saved his life back there in the mine. Just so long as he kept it …

The car was an old, grey VW Polo, with what looked to Porter like a hundred thousand miles on the clock. It reeked of diesel and cigarette fumes. Its engine roared and stuttered, but seemed to be spinning fine. Hassad twisted the wheel around, pulling it up next to Porter, and flung the door open. Porter grabbed Katie, pulled back the passenger seat, and laid her flat down on the back. She was in no state to sit up, he judged. He pulled the seat belt down to fasten it around her so that she wouldn’t get knocked around too much. There was no telling what kind of roads they might meet. Nor what kind of opposition.