Conrad raised the box with the two buttons. “Tell me what I want to know and I will press the red button. It stops the machine.”

“You’re wrong!” Alex shouted. “You can’t do this!”

“I am doing this. And I am never wrong. Please, do not waste any more time. You have so little of it left…”

Alex lifted his head up again. The grindstones were getting closer with every second that passed. He could feel their vibration, transmitted down the conveyor belt.

“How much did the agents know?” Conrad demanded. “Why were they here?”

Alex slumped back. The pounding of the two stones enveloped him. He looked past Conrad at the other two men. Would they let him do this? But their faces were impassive. “Please…!” he shouted. Then stopped himself. There was no mercy in this man. He had seen that at once. He gritted his teeth, biting back his fear. He wanted to cry. He could actually feel the tears in his eyes. This wasn’t what he wanted. He had never asked to be a spy. Why should he be expected to die Like one?

“You have perhaps fifty seconds more,” Conrad said.

And that was when Alex made up his mind. There was no point in going silently to this bloody and unspeakable death. This wasn’t a World War Two film with him as the hero. He was a schoolboy and everyone-Blunt, Mrs Jones, the CIA-had lied to him and played tricks on him to get him here. Anyway, Conrad already knew who he was. He had called him by his real name. Conrad knew that Troy and Turner had been American spies. There was only one piece of information he could add. The CIA were looking for a nuclear bomb. And why shouldn’t he tell Conrad that? Maybe it would be enough to stop him using it.

“They were searching for a bomb!” he cried out. “A nuclear bomb. They know Sarov bought uranium from the Salesman. They came here with a Geiger counter. They were going to break into the villa and look for the bomb.”

“How did they know?”

“I don’t know…”

“Thirty seconds.”

The rumbling and pounding was louder than ever. Alex looked up and saw the stones less than three metres away. Air was rushing between them and flowing over him. He could feel the breeze cold on his skin. The fact that he wasn’t tied down, that his arms and legs were free, only made it all the worse. He couldn’t move! The drug had turned him into a piece of living meat on its way to the mincer. Perspiration flowed down the side of his face then followed the line of his jaw and curved behind his neck.

“It was Turner!” Alex yelled. “He found out from the Salesman. He was working undercover. They found out that he’d sold you the uranium and they came here looking for the bomb.”

“Did they know the purpose of the bomb?”

“No! I don’t know. They didn’t tell me. Now stop the machine and let me go.”

Conrad considered for a moment. The box was still in his hand.

“No,” he said. “I don’t think so.”

“What?” Alex screamed the single word. He could barely hear himself above the noise of the grindstones.

“You’ve been a bad boy,” Conrad said. “And bad boys have to be punished.”

“But you said-”

“I lied. Just like you. But of course I must kill you. You are of no further use…”

Alex went mad. He opened his mouth and screamed, trying to find the strength to separate himself from the conveyor belt. His brain knew what it wanted. His body refused to obey. It was useless. He jerked upwards. His feet were moving ever closer to the spinning stones. Conrad took a step back. He was going to watch as Alex was fed through the crusher. The two workers behind him would clear up when it was over.

“No!” Alex howled.

“Goodbye, Alex,” Conrad said.

And then-another voice. In another language. One that Alex didn’t understand.

Conrad said something. Alex could no longer hear. The man’s lips moved but any sound was snatched away by the roar of the machine.

Alex’s bare toes were being battered by the wind that was forced through the stones. They were five centimetres away from being crushed. Four centimetres, three centimetres, two centimetres…

There was a gunshot.

Sparks. The smell of smoke.

The grindstones were still spinning. But the conveyor belt had stopped. Alex’s feet were jutting over the end of the belt. He could almost feel the spinning stone racing past his toes.

Then the voice came again, speaking now in English.

“My dear Alex. I’m so sorry. Are you all right?”

Alex tried to reply with the worst swear-word he knew. But it wouldn’t come. He couldn’t even breathe.

With a sense of gratitude, he passed out.

“You will have to forgive Conrad. He is an excellent assistant and useful in so many ways. But he can also be a little… over-enthusiastic.”

Alex had woken up in the most magnificent bedroom he had ever seen. He was lying on a four poster bed opposite a floor-to-ceiling mirror in an ornate gold frame. All the furniture in the room was antique and wouldn’t have been out of place in a museum. There was a painted chest at the foot of the bed, a massive wardrobe with elaborately carved doors, a chandelier with five curving arms. The shutters on the windows had been folded back to reveal a wrought iron balustrade looking out over a courtyard.

The man, who had introduced himself as General Alexei Sarov, was sitting on a chair next to the mirror, dressed in a dark suit. His legs were crossed. His back was completely straight. Alex examined the face with its grey hair and intelligent blue eyes. He recognized his voice from the sugar mill and knew-without knowing why-that it was the general who had saved him.

It was dark outside. Alex guessed it must be after midnight. Someone had dressed him in a white nightshirt that came down to his knees. He wondered how long he had been asleep. And how long the Russian had been waiting for him to wake up.

“Do you want something to eat?” That had been his first question.

“No, thank you. I’m not hungry.”

“A drink then?”

“Some water…”

“I have some here.”

The water came in a silver jug, served in a gleaming crystal glass. General Sarov poured it himself, then handed it to Alex. Alex reached out, grateful that the drug Conrad had pumped into him had worn off while he was asleep and that he could move his arms again. He sipped. The water was ice-cold. That was when Sarov began his apology, speaking in faultless English.

“Conrad had no orders to eliminate you. On the contrary, when I found out who you were, I very much wanted to meet you.”

Alex wondered about that, but decided to ignore it for the moment. “How did you find out who I was?” he asked. There seemed no point in denying it now.

“We have a very sophisticated security system both here and in Havana.” The general seemed uninterested in explaining more. “I’m afraid you’ve had a terrible ordeal.”

“The people I came here with had a worse one.”

Again the general raised a hand, brushing aside the details. “Your friends are dead. Were they your friends, Alex?” A brief pause. “I was of course perfectly well aware of the Devil’s Chimney when I first moved into the Casa de Oro. I had a simple defence mechanism constructed. Diving is prohibited on this side of the island so when the occasional diver is foolish enough to enter the cave, he is only paying the price of his curiosity. They tell me that a shark was killed there…”

“It was a great white.”

“You saw it?”

Alex said nothing. Sarov raised his hands, resting his chin on the tip of his fingers.

“You are as remarkable as I was told,” he continued. “I have read your file, Alex. You have no parents. You were raised by an uncle who was himself a spy. You were trained by the Special Air Service, the SAS, and sent on your first mission in the south of England. And then, just a few weeks later, to France… Some would say that you have had the luck of the devil, but I do not personally believe in the devil-or in God, for that matter. But I believe in you, Alex. You are quite unique.”