Ben knew it by heart and reeled it off. He swallowed another gulp. Still just a short way down the road to oblivion. Two full bottles should just about get him to where he wanted to be.

‘While some of us are drinking themselves to death,’ Wolf said, ‘others are gonna get things done.’ He dialled the number for Grace’s mobile, but there was no reply. ‘She’s got it turned off. Does she have a landline?’

Ben knew that too. He recited the number, and Wolf keyed it in. Same result. ‘Damn it,’ Wolf breathed. Jumping online, he ran a search for ‘PC Grace Kirk Scotland’ and found the number of the station in Fort William. He called it and asked if she was available. The receptionist checked, then came back a moment later and told him that PC Kirk had left the station for her lunch break but was expected back soon.

Wolf glanced again at his watch. It was just gone one p.m. Bad timing. He asked, ‘Do you know where she went?’

‘Sorry, sir, I can’t give out that information, even if I knew.’

‘I get it. Can you ask her to call me back the moment she returns from lunch? Tell her it’s Ben and give her this number.’ Wolf read out the number of the burner. ‘Please tell her it’s extremely important that she call me immediately.’

The receptionist said she’d pass the message along. Wolf thanked her, ended the call and then turned to Ben. ‘See? She’s not dead. Which means this ain’t over yet.’

Ben said nothing. It had been a long, long time since he’d last broken down and resorted to the bottle like this. Several inches of whisky were gone. Plenty more to go.

Wolf said, ‘Fine. If you’re passed out unconscious by the time she calls back, I’ll tell her to get the hell away. Disappear. We’ll RV with her somewhere and get her out. Are you listening to a word I say?’

Ben would have given anything in the world for it to be that simple. But he and Wolf were hundreds of miles from Grace, right at the opposite end of the long, narrow, stretched-out land mass that was Britain, and Saunders’ men were just seconds away from closing in any time they received the order. On paper, it was the most hopelessly doomed hostage rescue scenario imaginable.

‘Maybe it’s true,’ he muttered.

‘So you’re ready to see sense now,’ Wolf said.

Ben said, ‘No, I meant maybe it’s true that I’m cursed.’

Wolf screwed up his face. ‘What the fuck are you talking about, cursed?’

‘I used to feel that way, a lot. Like everything I touched turned bad. Everyone I got close to ended up getting hurt. And it was all my fault.’