He beamed at Shishani, and the two men embraced and kissed each other on both cheeks.

‘Oh, it’s good to see you, Argun!’ said Khasmohmad Kadyrov, in Chechen. ‘When was it last, brother? Now Zad?’

‘Khan Neshin,’ said Argun Shishani. ‘I believe.’

‘So it was,’ said Kadyrov. ‘So it was. And today you have done a wonderful thing. Let me see her.’

‘Surely,’ said Shishani, and he led the other Chechen ten or fifteen yards into the trees where the three women still lay, face down, petrified.

At the sight of their bikini-clad bodies, Kadyrov’s face grew dark.

‘They’re dressed like whores,’ he spat. ‘What is this insult?’

Shishani raised his palms in placation. ‘I’m sorry, brother,’ he said. ‘We had clothes for them but they were left on the boat by mistake.’

‘Which one is she?’ said Kadyrov.

‘The middle one.’

‘Wait here.’

Kadyrov returned to his Land Cruiser. In his left hand were a couple of black sheets; in his right, a digital video camera.

He dropped the sheets and handed the camera to Shishani.

‘The middle one, yes?’ he said.

‘Yes, she…’ said Shishani.

‘Give me that,’ said Kadyrov, pointing to the still-silenced pistol in Shishani’s waistband.

Shishani handed it over. Kadyrov stepped over to the women.

‘Get up!’ he said.

They stood, fearfully, not daring to meet his eye.

‘You,’ he said, pointing at the woman on the left. ‘Name?’

‘What?’ she said.

‘What is your name?’

‘Martha.’

‘Martha,’ he repeated, rolling it around his mouth. He nodded. Then he looked at the woman on the right. ‘And you?’

‘Emily.’

He chuckled softly.

‘Well, well,’ he said, and looked at Shishani, eyebrows raised.

Shishani nodded.

‘Thank you, ladies,’ said Kadyrov. ‘Everyone stand up, come with me.’

He grabbed Emily Souster roughly by the shoulder, turned her around, and pushed her forwards. The other women followed as he walked them back twenty, twenty-five metres, to the overhanging branches of the trees.

‘Kneel!’ he snapped.

‘Please,’ said Emily. ‘What are you…?’

He raised the pistol, placed it against her forehead, and said, quietly, ‘Kneel.’

She did as instructed.

‘You two kneel either side of her,’ he said.

‘Emily…’ said Charlotte Morgan.

Kadyrov slapped her in the face. ‘Be quiet, woman,’ he said, ‘and kneel.’

The three women knelt in the sand, Charlotte and Martha held in position by masked men.

Kadyrov pulled on a black balaclava and stood behind Emily Souster.

‘Turn it on,’ he said.

There was an electronic beep as Shishani clicked the video camera.

‘Begin filming,’ said Kadyrov.

Shishani nodded.

The harsh glare of the light from the camera illuminating him, Khasmohmad Kadyrov looked into the lens and spoke, in heavily-accented English. ‘Oh, Britain!’ he said. ‘This is a warning from us, the Warriors of Jihad. A taste of what is to come.’

He placed the pistol to the back of Emily Souster’s neck, and she started and looked up at Shishani.

‘What’s he doing?’ she said. ‘I didn’t…’

‘Silence,’ said Kadyrov, sharply. He looked into the camera. ‘We have the daughter of the British Prime Minister. You can see her here. Now you will see that we are men of action.’