My senses absorbed these things. But my mind was sharp and clear and focused on André coming up the short companionway behind me. He was stumbling. Making it awkward for the Russian behind him. In his arms he clutched the concrete block to which he was attached and the other Russian, who had followed me, leaned down to yank him up. In that moment I shrugged off my oilskin and kicked off my shoes, ready for what was coming.

André struggled out into the open, battered by the rain and releasing the block on to the deck with obvious relief. His eyes found mine. What did I see there? In that brief flash I saw the same look he’d given me when we would hurl ourselves off the bridge into the mighty Rhône. The certainty that we were immortal. And just as I did back then, I believed him.

One of the Russians came at me with a rope to tie my hands, and I fought him off so savagely that the second one, clearly not a good sailor, lurched over and grabbed my arm. That was his mistake. He thought he could take his eyes off my brother for even one moment.

I saw André brace his feet against the wet deck, lean back and start to turn. Within seconds he was yanking the concrete block at the end of the rope up into the air. Spinning like a hammer-thrower. Using his body as a fulcrum, he swung the block, whirling it through the pouring rain like Thor wielding his hammer and slammed it into the back of the Russian who was trying to break my arm. I heard ribs crack. He dropped like a sack of shit. The second one abandoned the rope he was holding and was reaching for his gun when the block came round for a second swing. Lower this time. It took out his legs. He went down with a scream.

The third Russian came charging up the companionway and fired wildly into the night, but he had the sense to stay within the safety of the hatch to avoid the swinging block. Balancing himself against the pitching of the boat he squinted against the rain and tried to take more careful aim.

Now. It was now. Or it was never. I jumped up on to the side of the boat. André scooped up his block in the cradle of his strong arms, took a grip on the wrist I offered him and we pushed off. Down into the blackness.

He was trusting me.

*

Shock numbs the brain. Cold numbs the limbs.

For a heartbeat I froze. But instincts are strong. I kicked frantically to try to slow our descent but the block was like an anchor dragging us down. I could see nothing. The blackness as dark as a tomb, but I kept my grip on my brother. I would drown before I let go of him.