I leaned against the low brick wall and jolted when I heard the noise. Like a baby’s cry. I looked into the pen and I saw the pig. Its hind legs had been tied with some kind of twine, as if in preparation for slaughter, and fearing for its life it had crawled on its belly across the dirt of the pen. I stepped over some broken brickwork and crouched down beside the pig. It squealed with terror as I pulled at the twine with my bare hands until I had set it free. It scampered away, wild-eyed with panic.

And as I made to stand up there was a sudden explosion of pain at the back of my skull.

And then, following each other so closely that it felt like one blow, the inner edge of a forearm smashed into my throat and a fist hammered into the small of my back.

Now strong arms were around me, and he was right behind me, forcing my head back. He was near enough for me to kick him in the shins but I was suddenly not strong enough to do it, and he was close enough for me to rip his balls off, but suddenly I was too drained by shock and pain to even try.

Then he had me.

The palm of his left hand pulled hard against my right cheek, his fingertips pressing through the flesh and into my teeth as he twisted my face to one side. I looked down and glimpsed the knife.

The Fairbairn-Sykes commando dagger. The only knife ever designed to sever the carotid arteries of a man’s neck.

The long thin blade moved a fraction and the steel tip pressed into the side of my neck, found a muscle it didn’t like, edged forward, prodded the Adam’s apple for a moment and then slipped back to the fleshy, resistant part of my neck and settled there, pressing harder.

The knife broke my skin with a sharp prick of pain.

I could feel his steady breath on the back of my throbbing head.

The wet warmth of fresh blood slid down my neck.

I tried to drop my centre of gravity. Terrified now, I lashed out with the heels of my shoes. I fought him and I fought my exhaustion, I bit and I cursed, refusing to let either overwhelm me.

But he held me tighter, and I was weak with pain, and the tip of his knife went in deeper, and the blade was buried in my flesh now.

I felt myself sag in his arms.

‘Please,’ I said. ‘I have a daughter.’

He stopped.

The stump of metal at the knife handle’s base banged once against my right temple. And then once against my left temple. It must have put me out for a few seconds because the next thing I knew I was down on my knees, dizzy and sick.