‘You are Martin Caldwell?’ The man’s Japanese accent was strong enough for Caldwell’s name to sound like Cordwell when he pronounced it.

‘Yes. Yes, that’s … that’s me.’

‘So, where is Ohara?’

‘Who are you?’ Caldwell countered.

‘That does not matter.’

‘Still, I should like to know.’

‘Zayala. My name is Zayala.’

‘You … work for Ohara?’

‘Who else is here, Caldwell?’

‘No one.’

‘I know that is a lie. Where is Wada?’

Don’t tell him, Wada silently urged Caldwell, though in truth he might as well, since she was only a few rooms away with no means of escape. If she stepped into the passage, Zayala would surely see her. If she climbed out of one of the windows, he would surely hear her. And he had a gun.

How had he found them? A sickening answer came to her as she cast around the kitchen, looking for some way out. Ohara’s phone. Perhaps, as soon as she removed it from the barn and re-established a connection, Zayala was able to track it. And to arrive where the signal led him long before Erla.

‘Ohara and Wada have gone,’ Caldwell lied, none too convincingly to Wada’s ear. ‘I don’t know where.’

‘They left together?’

‘Er … yes. Together.’

The last part of the room Wada looked at was the ceiling. And there, directly above the chair she’d been sitting on, she saw a loft hatch. It was maybe the only chance she had of escaping.

She stood on the chair, moving with enormous care to avoid any scrapes or creaks, stretched her arms above her head and waited for some sound from the bathroom that would camouflage whatever noise the hatch made. There was a clank of the chain on Caldwell’s handcuffs that gave her what she needed. She pushed the hatch upwards and slid it to one side.

‘What was that?’ Zayala immediately demanded.

‘I … didn’t hear anything,’ said Caldwell.

Wada knew she had to act fast. She was surely only seconds away from detection. She jumped up, grasped the frame of the hatchway and pulled herself bodily up, her muscles straining but adrenalin driving her on.

Then she was in the loft, scrambling on to a surface of planking laid across the joists. As she replaced the hatch, she glimpsed a movement down in the kitchen: the shadow of Zayala entering the room. But the hatch had slid back into place before she saw the man himself.

Silence. Wada crouched where she was. Did Zayala know she was there? Had he seen or heard the hatch being moved? She barely breathed as she waited. Maybe, she thought, just maybe—

Then a gunshot tore a hole in the hatch and pinged against one of the rafters. Wada shrank back.