So much for the legendary Arab hospitality, thought Porter bitterly.

He leant back against the wall. He felt exhausted. As he looked into the darkness, he tried to take stock of what had just happened. He had thought for the last couple of days about what he would do when he got here, about how he would handle the kidnappers, and how he would handle Hassad. But he’d hadn’t expected to be thrown straight into a prison.

Whatever was about to happen next, it wasn’t going to be good. There was no point in kidding himself about that.

Maybe I’ve miscalculated, he thought. Who knows who we killed on that mission all those years ago? A dozen or more Hezbollah guys had been taken out on that job. We weren’t even counting. It could have been somebody’s father or brother. They might well have been looking for revenge all this time. After all, nobody clings on to a grudge like an Arab. And nobody is ever more determined to take their vengeance in blood.

Maybe Hassad just said I could come out here so that he could kill me.

And who could blame him?

There’s unfinished business between us and he probably knows it.

Perhaps this is how it ends. A short, brutal fight in a dark cell. And then a knife to the throat.

Porter sat down on the straw, resting his back against the wall. The clouds had obscured the moon, and the cell was plunged into near total darkness. Up above, Porter could hear a couple of vehicles move around, and then he heard a couple of shouts. One of the commands appeared to be in English, but Porter reckoned he must have misheard. Soon, it fell completely silent. He had no idea what time it was – the Firm hadn’t supplied him with a watch and it was years since he’d owned one himself – but he guessed it must be at least midnight. Friday morning already, he told himself. Tomorrow night Katie Dartmouth will have been executed. And they can toss her into whatever grave they have already dug for me.

Peering into the darkness, Porter decided that he didn’t mind dying that much, just so long as it was quick and painless. If he was being honest with himself, he’d died a long time ago. The moment that Hassad had come back from unconsciousness and shot my mates, my life was over. There was nothing worth living for after that. I was just punching out the hours at the factory, until the foreman called the whistle on my time.

But now at least I’ve done something for Sandy, he thought.

And regrets? Christ, where would you even start? But right at the top of the list would be not killing the Hassad bastard.

He could hear the turning of the key in the lock. Porter’s muscles tensed as soon as he heard the mechanism start to move. He could hear the rusty, scratchy bolt being thrown back. And then the door started to open.