Night was descending, darkness delivering a serving of white frost; fortunately the shower block was at least ten degrees warmer than the rest of the prison. Situated a hundred kilometres from the ameliorating effects of the ocean, at 700 metres above sea level, Goulburn was a place of extremes: skin-scorching summers and soul-freezing winters. Now, in spring, the days were hot but the nights were still cold. Jax was in no hurry to return to his frigid cell.

Towel still slung over his shoulder, he walked towards one of the six basins and put his ‘3-in-1: Body, Face and Hair’ on the countertop. He looked at the mirror, covered in condensation, and gritted his teeth before pulling his towel off his shoulder and wiping it clear.

He still barely recognised the face that stared back at him. His once straight nose was crooked from breaks, and the shrapnel from the IED had left a generous smattering of ugly scars across his cheeks, forehead and chin. It made him look older than his nineteen years. It also made him look dangerous.

He was a lot bigger now. He hadn’t stepped on a scale since Clarke had started him on a combination of anabolic steroids and human growth hormone, or HGH, but he had to be well over a hundred kilograms. Jax suspected the steroids were not a standard type, given the speed at which his body had transformed.

‘Building your body will be the easy part,’ Clarke had predicted. ‘Learning how to use it will be the challenge.’

Jax could barely bench-press eighty kilos when the training started. He could now press 160. Six reps. Four sets. Form perfect.

Clarke had arranged to have his hospital stay extended at Long Bay. Jax trained in a newly upgraded occupational therapy room that boasted a state-of-the-art gym. Even though it was ostensibly available to anyone in the clinic, on the whole Jax had had the place mostly to himself. He knew that was no coincidence. It amazed him how far ASIO’s reach extended within the prison system – it seemed Clarke could get Jax anything his heart desired. Except, of course, out of there.

The ‘physiotherapist’ who had continued to treat Jax long after most of his injuries had healed had also been arranged by Clarke. A former commando in Australia’s Special Operations Command and a decorated martial-arts expert, Dr Greg Ferris was ASIO’s hand-to-hand combat trainer. He taught men and women how to maim and murder. Jax spent a couple of hours with him every day, punching, kicking, elbowing and kneeing, and learning how to defend himself.