‘Maybe they only want some paperwork,’ said Porter.

He slowed down, pulling the Fiat to a stop at the side of the road. The tall soldier was walking towards him, his pace deliberately slow. Act casual, thought Porter. Don’t try and pretend to be an Arab, you’ll never fool them. Just tell them you need to get to the other side. Fast.

The man was standing right next to the van now. The two other soldiers were standing astride the road, their faces also masked, but with their guns gripped to their chests. In the blink of an eye, they could shatter the van with bullets, Porter realised. There’s no escape.

He wound down the window. ‘Good to see you again, Mr Porter,’ said Perry Collinson. ‘For a while there, we thought we’d never bloody find you.’

Porter froze.

The words had sliced straight through him, like a dagger cutting through his skin.

‘Now I suggest you and your lady friend step out of the vehicle, and walk across to the hut with me,’ he said.

Porter remained silent. He could feel the blood pumping through his veins, red with fury.

The AK-47 was still positioned next to his feet. Its mag was full: there were more than enough bullets in there to finish Collinson and his two men. Tempting, he told himself. But there was not enough time to get the gun out, and slam the trigger. They’d have shot him to pieces before he’d even got it in his hands.

It was just suicide.

‘C’mon, man,’ Collinson growled. ‘We haven’t got all night.’

‘John, I –’ Katie started.

‘Do as he says,’ Porter snapped.

He pushed open the door of the van, stepping down onto the tarmac. It was completely dark now, and there was a bite the air. As he looked back, he could see they were firmly on the neutral side of the border. The gates had been shut behind them, and the Hezbollah soldiers had already gone back to their positions. Collinson must have come down to this position, and overwhelmed the Hezbollah guards in this hut, so that he could catch us after we came through the Lebanese border, but before we reached Israel, he thought.

He means to kill me. There can’t be any doubt about that.

Katie was now standing next to Porter. She was looking at Collinson, but there was no warmth in her expression. Her hands were shaking, and her skin was pale. ‘This way,’ said Collinson, pointing his AK-47 towards the hut.

Porter started to walk. It was ten metres across the empty ground from where he’d pulled up the van to the hut. It was a small, one-room structure, made out of concrete and corrugated iron. There was one glass window, looking out onto the road that led through the demilitarised zone. It was the kind of hut that was familiar to border guards right around the world. Porter could see the two soldiers from the road take up position behind him, walking five paces to his rear, their guns pointing straight at his back. More men from Connaught Security, he reckoned. And they won’t hesitate to fill my back with lead if they need to.