I waved him up with my left hand.

‘Now, the boy.’

The SIG stayed where it was, zeroed in on his centre mass. I pocketed the second roll of gaffer tape and a fistful of cable ties, pushed the door shut and pressed the fob.

The indicators blinked, making Hesco’s uncertain steps seem even more uncertain. For a moment he reminded me of a Thunderbirds puppet. His knees didn’t seem able to carry his body weight. I thought he was going to crumble. Then he got his act together. He wasn’t totally stable, but he gradually managed to lengthen his stride.

On the way to the junction, I tried to put myself in his shoes. He probably assumed that I wouldn’t take his word for the number of security people standing by, and that I’d be switched on. At the same time, he’d be hoping that I’d completely focus on getting Stefan back; that I’d believe he was there; that it was about to happen; that tunnel vision might leave me exposed. And maybe I did have tunnel vision – but what else could I do to get the little fucker back?

We turned left on to the road that led to where he had said the boy was located. The streetlamps were fully operational there, but widely spaced. I slipped the pistol under my jacket as I followed him closely enough to try to camouflage the fact that he was my prisoner, yet far enough away to stay out of range of a sudden reverse kick, however much I reckoned he wouldn’t have the strength to deliver it.

The traffic was light and intermittent. Two or three wagons sped past in the oncoming lane; only one came from behind us. None of them slowed as they went by.

I kept an eye out for a way into the site that wouldn’t channel us straight at the security detail. There was a pedestrian door set into the hoarding fifty metres short of the vehicle entrance, but none of the keys on Hesco’s ring worked their magic. We moved on to the main gate.

The floodlit strip immediately inside it reminded me of the area you couldn’t step into without getting hosed down in The Great Escape. I told him to keep his distance while I got busy with the padlock. The third key snapped it open, and by the time it did so, we had company.

A not-quite-matching pair of lads in blue uniforms and white hard hats emerged from the ground floor of the middle Portakabin. A night stick, a torch and a two-way hung from their belts. I couldn’t see anything that might go bang. The older and more hard-bitten of the two balled his fist and yelled at us. I assumed it was Schweizerdeutsch for ‘What the fuck are you doing here?’

I waved my left arm and gave them some reassuring Euro-waffle. They seemed to relax when the shouty one recognized Hesco, and got anxious again when they realized he had both hands fastened behind his back. But by then we were inside and I’d replaced the padlock and brought out the SIG and used it to help explain what I wanted us all to do next.

19

I shepherded the three of them into the Portakabin. It was starkly lit and furnished, cupboards and work tables bolted to the floor, and architectural blueprints spread out on every surface. No home comforts, apart from an electric kettle and a mini fridge, not even a flat-screen TV. And no Stefan.

I instructed Hesco to take the weight off his feet. As he perched his arse sideways on a straight-backed chair, I told the guards to remove their hard hats and put them down. The younger and more nervous of the two then raised his hand and tried to wipe the sweat off his forehead. His blond hair was dark with it, and plastered to his skin.

As three more sets of headlamps swept past the site entrance, I motioned to him to sort the venetian blinds. When he’d lowered and closed them all, I chucked him eight cable ties, miming what I wanted him to do.

Struggling to tear his gaze away from the SIG, he looped one tie through another like a figure of eight and used them to fasten Shouty’s wrists together behind his back.

‘Tighter.’ I raised the pistol and aimed it at his head.

He didn’t need me to translate.

He repeated the process on Shouty’s ankles, then his own.

Finally, he did the figure-of-eight trick with his own wrists. I moved behind him and pulled each tail until it bit, then sat the lads back to back and wound the tape around their chests and necks and a nearby metal table leg. Hesco decided to stand up halfway through the process. One look was all it took to remind him that his right elbow was next on my list of targets, then both knees. He sat down again.

When I’d finished, I knelt to one side of the guards. I’d seen this set-up a million times. Shouty looked like he’d been around the block, but he was all piss and wind. He wasn’t going to risk taking a round for what Adler paid him; he wasn’t going to go out of his way to help me either. The younger one looked like he was doing shift work to put himself through college.

Those guys were solid. The threat was going to come from somewhere else.

I focused on the kid. ‘You speak English?’

He hesitated, so I let him take another long hard look down the barrel of the weapon.

‘Yes.’

‘What about the boy?’

His Adam’s apple rose and fell, but his expression told me he didn’t know what the fuck I was talking about.

I gestured at the digital clock on the wall: 01:45. ‘What time did you start your shift?’

‘Since forty-five minuten …’

‘Is there anyone else here?’

‘No.’ His Adam’s apple bulged. He’d have been shit at the poker table.

‘So you put the call out when we arrived.’ I took first pressure on the trigger. ‘How long will they be?’

His throat went so dry he just croaked. ‘Twenty minuten. No, maybe fifteen.’

I got up and walked across to Hesco.

‘So where the fuck is he?’

He opened his mouth, moistened his lips with his tongue, and said nothing.

I circled the chair and tapped the handle of the weapon on his shattered elbow. His torso went into spasm but he didn’t give more than a gasp.

‘Where?’

He turned his head. ‘I will … show you.’

He stood again, waited for me to nod, and made for the door. I didn’t believe a word this fucker said now, but I didn’t have a choice.

He still wasn’t too steady on his feet, but I wasn’t taking anything for granted. I followed him outside.

‘How many of your guys are with him?’

‘None.’ He flexed his neck muscles. I hoped it hurt like fuck. ‘He cannot escape.’

He headed away from the ribbon of light that ran along the front of the site and into the darkness at the heart of it. As my night vision started to kick in, I could see that the construction here had progressed further than it had appeared from the other side of the gate. The one-storey skeletons surrounding the base of the central block acted like a prefab maze for Hesco to lead me through.

Every shadow began to look like his friend. And my enemy. Or maybe that was just the way he wanted it to seem. I stayed two strides behind him, scanning the area, holding the muzzle of the SIG rock steady halfway down his spinal column. All I could hear was the crunch of sand and builder shit beneath our boots.

As we passed the footings of the crane, the silhouette of another blacked-out Portakabin emerged from the jumble of structures and heaps of building material beyond it. When we were less than ten metres away from its door I ordered Hesco to stop and go right, into the cover of a wall.

He gave a slight tilt of the head and did as he’d been told.

The wall was double-skinned, and chest high. I made him stand with his back to it, then take a step away, leaving his shoulders pressed against the breezeblock. His pinioned arms hung in the gap behind him. The pain was etched on his face.