Porter could feel the muscles on his arms straining against the ropes that bound him to the chair: if there was even the remotest possibility of release, he would flatten the bastard in a hailstorm of punches. But there was not so much as a millimetre of leeway in his bindings.

The man started to unroll some sheets of paper he was holding in his hand.

‘The holy book says, “When a man dies they who survive him ask what property he has left behind. The angel who bends over the dying man asks what good deed he has sent before him.”’ He paused. ‘You should take heed of those words.’

Porter caught his breath inwardly, and remained silent.

The man folded his arms and began to pray, and as he did so, his voice turned from a whine into a slow, respectful chant.

‘In the Name of God, the Merciful, the Compassionate
Praise be to God, Lord of the Universe,
The Compassionate, the Merciful,
Sovereign of the Day of Judgement!
You alone we worship, and to You alone we turn for help.
Guide us to the straight path,
The path of those whom You have favoured,
Not of those who have incurred Your wrath,
Nor of those who have gone astray.’

Porter could feel a bead of cold sweat running down the back of his spine. I don’t mind dying, he thought bitterly. But I could do without the bloody RE lesson.

The man had briefly closed his eyes at the end of the prayer, in a moment of religious contemplation, but now he opened them again. ‘I will leave these with you,’ he said, holding out the few sheets of paper in his hand. ‘You are an infidel, and maybe you wish to die an infidel. That is your choice. But we are holy men, and we wish you to have the opportunity to come to know the one and true God before you pass from this world to the next.’

‘Maybe I’d rather not die at all,’ growled Porter.

‘A soldier always wants to die,’ said the man.

He placed the sheets of paper down on Porter’s lap. It took all the self-control Porter could muster to stop himself from spitting on them. Instead, he merely looked up impassively into the man’s eyes. Don’t give him the satisfaction of even the smallest victory over you, he told himself. It will just be one more regret to take with you to your grave.

Porter watched as the door clunked shut, and listened as the bolt was slotted into place. Even though he was securely bound to the chair, with no possibility of freeing himself, they weren’t taking any chances on his escape. Porter could feel his heart pounding against his ribcage. His blood was beating furiously, and even though the cell was dark and damp it was impossible to stop the sweat dripping down his back.

Now there can be no doubt, he told himself morosely. Within the hour, I shall be dead.