Mike was slow to react. He was still trying to slam the car into reverse when his door was wrenched open and a revolver was shoved up against his face.

‘If you move I’ll blow your fucking head off,’ a deep male voice screamed at him.

At the same time the back door was yanked open and the other guy told Slack to get out.

Slack didn’t move, so the guy reached in, grabbed his arm and pulled him onto the road.

‘Who the hell are you?’ Slack shouted.

‘We’re your worst fucking nightmare,’ the man said.

The guy with the gun smashed it against Mike’s head, rendering him unconscious. Both men then dragged Slack over to the van and ordered him to get in the back.

He refused so the gun was pushed up against his back and the man holding it said, ‘You have five seconds to do as you’re told and if you’re still standing here then you’re a dead man.’

Three seconds later Slack was in the back of the van and he heard the engine roar as it accelerated forward.

He was told to lie on the floor between the two men, who were sitting on fixed benches.

When he tried to speak the one with the gun, the taller of the two, kicked him hard in the ribs, which sent a blast of pain through his entire body.

‘Speak only when you’re spoken to,’ the guy said sharply.

He knew better than to argue. These blokes meant business, and he sensed that all they needed was an excuse to beat the shit out of him.

So he just lay there, his left cheek pressed against the cold, hard floor, his breath thumping in his ears.

He wondered if Mike had regained consciousness and had raised the alarm. Who would he call first? Danny probably. But there wasn’t much Danny could do, not without more information.

It was unlikely Mike had noted the van’s registration number, and Slack hadn’t spotted any onlookers when he was pulled from the car.

The ambush had taken place in a quiet street, one that he knew pretty well. There weren’t any houses or flats. Just some drab commercial units and a disused factory. Chances were no one saw what happened.

The kidnappers had chosen a good spot, and he guessed they must have followed the Merc from the apartment building. He cursed Mike for not spotting them. But then the traffic was heavy until they left the main roads.

The two men remained silent so all he could hear were his own thoughts and the chugging of the engine.

The tables had certainly been turned on him. He couldn’t even hazard a guess as to how many times he had ordered the same stunt to be pulled on men he wanted to punish. It must have run into dozens.