Wilde let out the throttle – and he was past the truck. He knew instantly that he had overcooked it; he lost control and the jeep lurched, skidding left and right. His hands fought the wheel as though it were a living thing. From some distant place he heard an explosion, but it was elsewhere, in a dream.

‘Shit,’ Heck said. His head was twisted, peering behind him and his voice little more than a whisper. Then, much louder, he exclaimed, ‘Scheisse!’

They were about to hit another hairpin, but Wilde didn’t dare slow down. The rear wheels were dragging to the right and they were about to plough into the sheer wall of rock.

‘Hey,’ Heck said. ‘Stop, Professor. We’re OK.’

‘What?’

‘They hit each other. The two trucks. They hit each other and they’ve both gone over the edge.’

Wilde slowed, then ground to a halt.

‘Good driving, Professor. Things were looking dicey there.’ Heck jumped out of the jeep and loped back up the hill. Wilde applied the handbrake and followed him. The road at the hairpin was littered with rocks and pieces of metal. Long, swerving tracks of burnt rubber scarred the road where Wilde had fought to gain control.

He caught up with Heck and together they peered over the edge. Far below, they could see the last tumbling journey of the timber lorry and its cargo of trees, falling inexorably into a gorge at the foot of the mountain. The black lorry was a little to the side, cartwheeling – and then both vehicles came together, tangling obscenely like monsters mating as they hit the ground. There was another explosion, echoing and distant. The first one had been the sound of the two lorries colliding; this one was the flash and roar of petroleum igniting and engulfing the wreckage and the two drivers in a ball of flame. Black smoke rose upwards in a filthy cloud.

‘What happened there?’

‘I honestly don’t know,’ Wilde said.

‘Were they trying to kill us? Didn’t they see us? Didn’t they see each other? What do we do now?’

Wilde shook his head. There was nothing they could do. He imagined the drivers in their cabs and hoped that the impact had killed them. The thought of them being incinerated alive was too much. He couldn’t bear to watch any more, so he walked back to the jeep and climbed in the driver’s seat and waited. After a couple of minutes Heck was with him.

‘Do you want me to drive, Professor? You’re sweating like a pig.’

Wilde held up his hands. They weren’t shaking, not even a tremor. ‘I think I’m OK. But a slug of whisky would go down well.’