The noise of his retching echoed back at him in what, it dawned on him, must be a cavernous space. It was still pitch black, but he was definitely no longer in the back of the van.

His head swimming, he turned to sit, knees drawn up, head between them, and tried to remember.

He’d spotted Cleverly. Been walking towards him, then bam! He was in the back of a van, a needle in his neck. A sudden thought forced its way through his muddled brain.

Cleverly. Was Cleverly here too?

He shouted out the name once, then panicked at how loud it sounded. The last thing he wanted was to alert his captors to the fact he was awake.

He tried a little softer this time. ‘Cleverly?’

The eerie whisper came back at him, once, twice, three times, until he was suddenly surrounded by it. Cle . . . ver . . . ly Cle . . . ver . . . ly Cle . . . ver . . . ly . . . like a circular fairground ride.

His stomach began to spin in unison and suddenly he was seventeen again and on the Waltzers with a girl he wanted to impress. He’d certainly managed that, spraying horrified onlookers with the half-dozen beers he’d downed before climbing on board.

He covered his ears and concentrated on slow, deep breathing. The smells of vomit, piss and shit that occasionally wafted towards him were bad enough. He had no desire to supplement them any further.

That sudden thought sent his hand to his crotch.

Thank Christ. He hadn’t pissed himself . . . yet.

As the drug continued its retreat, he registered that he no longer had his jacket on. In fact, his upper half was bare. He was still wearing his trousers, thank God.

He checked his pockets, both front and back.

No wallet and no phone, of course.

None of which meant that he couldn’t walk out of here, providing he could find the exit in the dark.

As he rose gingerly to his feet, he heard the clang of a door opening and with it the entrance of a shaft of electric light. He froze in its beam as three figures entered and began to walk swiftly towards him.

Even as he tried to sidestep on unresponsive legs, two of them had him by the arms, dragging him backwards against a wall to rope and hook him up there, his feet trailing the ground.

McNab cried out as his shoulders were drawn from their sockets.

‘Not too high,’ the third guy ordered. ‘We want him conscious.’

The ropes loosened a little, and the balls of his feet met the ground. The third figure moved towards him in the shaft of light.

‘Back for another round?’ McNab spat between his teeth.

The mouth curled into a smile. ‘You won’t be up for that when we’re finished with you.’

McNab gathered a blob of spit and launched it in his direction. It missed.