FOURTEEN

Daniel found the turning on to the sheep track with no trouble, after a short battle of wills with Drummer, who – not unnaturally – baulked at the notion of turning away from home once again, but as they headed out across the open moor, the weather closed in.

When he set off, there were no more than a few flakes swirling about in the gusty breeze without ever seeming to touch the ground, but then the few became many and suddenly it was as if a white veil had been drawn across Daniel’s view. He had no choice but to trust that Drummer could somehow follow the narrow path, as Hilary had said he would.

Even for someone who’d spent several years of his working life in close partnership with a dog, the feeling of being totally dependent on an animal for his very survival was slightly unsettling.

In contrast to his relationship with Taz, he and Drummer had no history – the pony owed him no loyalty. His reliance on the animal was completely one-sided and it was, in essence, only looking after Daniel as a consequence of its own self-preservation.

Daniel was under no illusions that, if he fell off, the pony would stick around to wait for him. The most likely scenario was that it would turn round and head for its stable without so much as a thought for its erstwhile rider, and this made it imperative that he use every ounce of his concentration and limited experience to ensure that it didn’t happen. The thought of being set afoot in these conditions, with very little idea of where he was, didn’t appeal to him at all, and that was the best possible result. If he were injured in the fall, he might lie unconscious for a long time before he was found, and in that case the prognosis would be grave.

Transferring the reins to one hand, Daniel wound the fingers of the other tightly into Drummer’s rough mane. Although they weren’t travelling particularly fast, he was caught dangerously off-balance several times by unseen twists and turns in the path, and only hung on by the skin of his teeth. The stinging wind numbed his face, and his fingers became stiff with cold as melting snow soaked his gloves.

Once or twice, when the wind blew extra hard, Drummer slowed, instinct urging him to angle his rump into the wind and wait out the storm, and Daniel had to drive him on with his heels and the end of the leather reins.

The only one who seemed unaffected by the conditions was Taz, who ran alongside or behind the pony with every appearance of enjoyment, his thick double-layered coat keeping the chill at bay and his strong claws finding good purchase even on the frosty ground. The only sign that he was even aware of the snow was in the way he flattened his ears against his head.

Just as Daniel was beginning to wonder if the whole idea had been a foolish and dangerous mistake, the snow stopped as abruptly as it had begun.

The wind continued to whistle over the surface of the moor and the sky still held that leaden, yellow-grey look that promised more snow to come, but any improvement – however temporary – was cause for celebration in Daniel’s view.

Sitting up, he brushed the snow from the saddle and the creases of his clothing before it could melt, while Drummer paused to give himself a huge shake. The moor stretched away from them on all sides, the covering of snow rendering it almost featureless, and the thin white line of the path he was following headed down into the shallow valley and on up to a cluster of rocks on the horizon.

Looking ahead and to the right when they finally breasted the rise, he could see a group of stunted pine trees. Close by were the tumbledown remains of a number of stone buildings and the jagged broken column of a chimney. There could be no doubt that he was looking at ruins of the old King’s Hat Mine. Daniel’s spirits rose like a lark on a summer’s day. They were on the right track.

With their goal in sight, Daniel asked Drummer for more speed and within minutes they came out on a track that was, if Hilary was to be believed, the one that Macek had taken. Turning right, the ruins stood out starkly against the lowering cloud, the mossy grey stones dusted with windblown snow, giving the effect of an old black and white photo.

At the pony’s feet were the clear double lines of a vehicle’s tyre tracks in the snowfall. The weather had, after all, been a blessing in disguise.

Sending a heartfelt thank-you winging back over the moor to Hilary, he pushed the pony forward again. Not knowing how soon he might come up with the Romanian, and not wanting to lose the element of surprise, Daniel called Taz to heel.

Cautiously rounding the corner, moments later, he saw a low bridge crossing what was possibly the tailrace of a long-gone waterwheel, before the track forked into two smaller paths. These were presumably the bridleways Hilary had spoken of.

Daniel couldn’t see the Nissan itself, but as he crossed the bridge, the telltale tyre tracks were clear, leading round the side of the hill on the right-hand path.

Patting Drummer’s steaming neck and reminding Taz to stay to heel, Daniel rode on, wondering if Macek actually knew where he was going or whether he was merely keeping on because he felt he had no alternative.

The path was clearly not meant for cars, however rugged their construction, and the fact that Macek kept having to detour around boulders gave Daniel hope that the Romanian might yet find himself halted by an impassable obstacle.

Drummer was moving at a ground-covering jog now, his hooves rattling on the frost-hard, stony path. It was a hybrid landscape, a mixture of dark-brown heather and whitened turf. Some areas had been blown clear of snow, while mini drifts, no more than inches deep, lay in the depressions and the angles between rocks and ground.

Suddenly the distant sound of a vehicle engine carried back on the wind. Ahead, the path turned and dropped out of sight round a steep rocky slope, and he reined Drummer in to listen. As keen as he was to catch up with the Romanian, he didn’t want to run into him unprepared.

In the relative quiet of their stillness, the relentless wind provided a backdrop against which Daniel was gradually able to pick out other noises: the liquid arpeggio call of a curlew, the gurgle of an unseen stream and then what his ears strained for, another burst of engine noise.

With his heels, he edged Drummer forward to the top of the slope and there, less than a hundred yards ahead, in the bottom of the valley, was the Nissan. It appeared to be stationary and as Daniel watched he saw its reversing lights come on and heard the roar of its engine, but it didn’t move.

At last, it seemed, Macek’s luck had run out.

Without pausing to ponder the cause of the Romanian’s misfortune, Daniel pushed Drummer on. The white line of the path wound down through 18-inch-high mounds of decaying bracken, the bent brown fronds showing dark where the Nissan’s wheels had disturbed the snow.

The 4x4’s engine roared again, but it seemed to be well and truly stuck, up to its hubcaps in the snow, which appeared to be a great deal deeper in the bottom of the valley.

Drummer was moving at a fast trot as they hit the level ground, and Daniel kicked him into a canter, his eyes on the vehicle’s left back door. If he could get that open before Macek realized what was happening, he would at least know if the girls were inside. It was of course quite possible that the Romanian had activated the child-locks, but he had no other plan.

He was within 20 feet of his target when with no warning whatsoever, Drummer dug his toes in sharply, dropping his head to retain his balance, and tipping Daniel, without ceremony, over his ears.

The landing was soft. Daniel hit the cushion of snowy vegetation shoulder first, loose snow cascading on top of him as he rolled over on to his back. Thankfully, he had the presence of mind to hang on to his reins, so, although Drummer threw up his head and pulled back, he could go no further than Daniel’s outstretched arm would allow and within moments, he was back on his feet. Crooning softly to soothe the pony, he reached up to scratch him behind his ears, sparing a few words of reassurance for Taz, who was fawning anxiously around his legs.

Turning to look at the 4x4 again, he frowned. The engine was still revving furiously, but the vehicle appeared to be sinking into the snow. Much deeper and it would be difficult to open the doors.

Daniel looked more closely at the stretch of ground between himself and the Nissan. At first glance it had appeared the same as the rough slope of the valley side, but now he could see that there were fewer tussocks of grass and heather, and the tracks left by the 4x4 cut dark, water-filled scars across the thin white carpet of snow. Nearer to him, several stunted hawthorns grew, their gnarled trunks twisted and bent away from the prevailing wind, but none stood further out in the valley bottom.

Realization hit Daniel like a cold shower. The Nissan wasn’t sinking in the snow – there hadn’t been enough for that. Suddenly the pony’s violent reaction made sense. He was standing on the edge of one of Dartmoor’s famous – or infamous – bogs, and if it hadn’t been for Drummer’s native savvy, he would now undoubtedly be in the same predicament as the Romanian. He realized that this was what Hilary had meant when she begged him to trust the pony, whatever happened.

Out of interest, he stepped cautiously forward, testing the ground with his weight. He didn’t go far. The frozen mat of vegetation that covered the bog dipped as he leaned on it, sending ripples out across the surface of the mire. It was a bizarre feeling, for all the world like treading on the thick skin of a very big custard. He remembered Hilary calling them quaking bogs or featherbeds and could now see why. He moved back quickly to firm ground.

Daniel peeled off his wet gloves and took his phone from his pocket. If he could reach the emergency services, how long would it take them to get there? Too long, he feared, but it was worth a try. He looked up. The sky was still grey, but only the odd lost flake floated mournfully down. Would the chopper risk taking off? He wasn’t sure. One look at the mobile’s display, however, told him that he was on his own. No signal was available in the valley and a glance at the foundering vehicle was enough to tell him that he didn’t have time to waste returning to higher ground. He would have to trust that Hilary had been able to contact Tom Bowden. In the meantime, it was clear that if anything were to be done, he would have to do it.

Macek was still revving the engine, the exhaust blowing out a spray of dirty water each time he trod on the accelerator pedal, but even as Daniel watched, the Nissan spluttered and fell quiet, finally overwhelmed by the thick, peaty bog water. Then, for the first time, Daniel actually saw the Romanian, as the driver’s door was pushed open, its lower edge scraping an arc through the sludge of mossy mud. Keeping a firm hold of the doorframe, Macek tested the surface of the bog with one foot, withdrawing it hastily when his leg plunged in up to the knee.

It was apparent that Macek hadn’t fully appreciated the gravity of his situation until that moment and his first instinct – somewhat bizarrely – was to try and drag the door shut again. In this he was foiled. His weight on the sill had tipped the vehicle sideways a little, digging the point of the door into the mud so that it was impossible to move.

Macek looked up and around, his wild eyes alighting on Daniel. He stared for a long moment, then looked around again, as if hoping that some other, more palatable, solution to his dilemma would miraculously appear.

Daniel waited, saying nothing, and eventually the Romanian’s gaze returned to him.

‘Well, help me!’ he shouted angrily. ‘Don’t just stand there! It’s sinking.’

The Nissan was indeed sinking. Some of these bogs were rumoured to be 20 feet deep or more, Tamzin had said, and although Daniel had no particular misgivings about seeing Anghel Macek disappear into its peaty depths, there was something he had to know first.

‘Where are the girls?’ he called.

‘What girls?’

Daniel shook his head in disbelief. ‘Now is not the time to be stupid,’ he told the Romanian. ‘If you don’t tell me where the two girls are, I’ll just walk away without a backward glance. Nobody will ever know I found you.’

‘No!’ His voice was almost a scream. ‘You can’t do that! All right – they’re here. In the car.’

‘Show me.’

Macek glanced down at the ever-encroaching tide of slime that had now topped the sill and started to fill the footwell. Raising his free hand in supplication, he looked up at Daniel again.

‘I can’t. How can I? They’re in the back. You’ll have to help me.’

Daniel was busy unhooking the stirrup leathers from Drummer’s saddle, thanking God for Hilary’s well-maintained tack. The leathers were soft and supple, and the sprung bars that held them in place were well oiled and opened easily to allow them to be pulled free.

‘Find a way,’ he said coldly, without looking at the Romanian. ‘Open the window. I want to see them.’

With both the stirrup leathers removed, Daniel unbuckled them, cursing fingers that were stiff and slow with cold. He slid the irons off, rebuckling the two together to create one long strap, some 10 feet long.

The Romanian had ducked back inside the vehicle now, and while Daniel waited for a sight of the girls, he undid the stud fastenings on Drummer’s reins and attached the resulting 7-or 8-foot length to the two stirrup leathers. The pony was wearing a head collar over his bridle with the rope knotted round his neck, and once Daniel had unclipped it, this added another 5 feet or so, but he still wasn’t sure it was enough.

Looking round desperately, his eyes fell on the girth that secured Drummer’s saddle. A length of padded leather, 4 inches in width and some 3 feet 6 in length, it had two buckles on each end, one of which with any luck could be used to incorporate it into Daniel’s makeshift safety line. As he lifted the saddle from Drummer’s back, the pony moved away a step or two before standing with his head lowered, steam rising from his sweat-streaked body, too tired to think of heading for his stable.

‘They’re here! Look, here they are!’ The stress in Macek’s voice was unmistakable even at a distance. ‘Now get me out of here!’

Daniel looked up. Macek was in the open driver’s doorway again, but this time he held a young dark-haired girl in the crook of his arm, her head lolling against his chest and her face ashen. It wasn’t Elena, so it had to be Molly, but gone was the pretty girl he’d seen at Moorside, bubbling with mischievous laughter. Daniel couldn’t see if her eyes were open. She could have been dead for all he knew.

Macek had also lowered the rear window of the Nissan and in the aperture Daniel could dimly see the dark head of another child, presumably Elena, who also appeared to be sleeping.

‘What have you done to them?’ he called.

Macek made an impatient movement with his head. ‘I gave them something to keep them quiet. They’re all right. Now get me out of here!’

His consistent use of ‘me’ as opposed to ‘us’ was not lost on Daniel. He held up the leather rope into the centre of which he had incorporated the heavy girth. It should be strong enough to support the weight of a man and a small child, although the maxim about the weakest link was frighteningly true, and the weakest link in this particular chain was probably the buckle that joined the two reins. For that reason, he had placed the reins at one end of the cobbled rope and planned to throw that portion across to the Romanian. At least that way he’d be able to retrieve it and cast it out again, should the worst happen.

‘Right. Catch the end of this, tie it round Molly and send her first, and then I’ll throw the rope back for you and Elena.’ Daniel was under no illusions that someone with Macek’s murderous history would actually follow these altruistic instructions, but he had to at least try.

‘Yes, yes, hurry!’

Coiling the mismatched collection of leather straps like a lasso, Daniel kept hold of his end and sent the rest snaking out across the bog towards the stricken 4x4.

His aim was true, and to his relief, there was enough spare for Macek to knot round one of the girls, if he could be persuaded to do so.

Unsurprisingly, he appeared to have no such intention in mind. As soon as he caught the end of the makeshift line, he pushed Molly back behind him on to the seat and wrapped it round his own body before reaching one hand forward to get a good grip on the leather.

‘Pull me in,’ he shouted, but Daniel wasn’t about to play ball.

‘If you don’t bring the girl, I’ll throw the other end too!’ he warned.

‘You won’t do that.’

‘Watch me.’

Macek gave him a look simmering with hatred and then, clearly realizing he had no bargaining power, reached behind him for the rag-doll-like figure of the child. With his arm circling her waist, he clutched her to him, and Daniel was relieved to see Molly’s arms lift to encircle the Romanian’s neck. Some vestige of consciousness remained, then – that was encouraging.

‘Stay as flat and as still as you can,’ he called, and braced himself to take up the strain as Macek prepared to abandon the temporary safety of the Nissan.

The question of whether the makeshift rope was strong enough to take the Romanian’s weight turned out to be less pertinent than whether Daniel was strong enough. Macek was a big man and would have been a challenge to pull through water, but as he tentatively lowered himself into the thick, peaty mud of the mire, the degree of drag on the leather line caught Daniel off guard and he staggered forward a step or two before steadying himself on the very brink of the bog.

‘Pull!’ Macek shouted, panic edging his voice.

Digging his forward heel in behind a tussock, Daniel looped the head-collar lead rope diagonally round his body like the anchorman on a tug-of-war team and leaned into the strain. It made little difference, and the task before him suddenly seemed hopeless. He had managed to pull Macek and his precious cargo a scant few inches towards safety, but they had also sunk several more inches into the mud.

‘Pull! Damn you!’ the Romanian yelled again, adding a string of what was almost certainly abuse in his own tongue.

Daniel was too busy to attempt a reply. Trying to at least hold the ground he had gained, he glanced round for inspiration. Drummer had wandered off and stood with his head low, but even if he had been within reach, it wouldn’t have helped. Stripped of his tack to make the rope, there was no way of fastening anything to him to utilize his strength in hauling. Daniel’s gaze moved on and stopped at the small group of stunted hawthorn trees that stood on the bog’s edge, some 10 feet away.

If he could get to those, might he be able to run his rope round one of the trunks and thus increase his pulling power?

Slipping and stumbling, Daniel began to work his way across to where the nearest tree stood in a patch of reedy grass and heather. Once, his foot missed the firm ground and plunged through the surface of the bog to go ankle-deep in the icy black sludge. Caught off-balance, he fell to his knees and lost much of the advantage he’d gained. Another tirade of abuse reached him as he struggled upright again.

Two, three, four more steps and he caught hold of the hawthorn with his right hand. Its trunk was barely larger than his wrist, but although the little tree shook as it took his weight, it was tough and deep-rooted, and Daniel felt if he could only gain enough rope to wrap round it, he would start to make progress.

Feeling the effort throbbing through his temples, Daniel dug his heels in and hauled on the line until his muscles cracked with the strain. Finally, with shaking hands he was able to pass the end of the rope round the hawthorn.

Tempting though it was to take a moment to rest his burning muscles, there wasn’t time. For every hard-fought inch he gained horizontally, the two on the other end of the line lost several to the clutches of the thick slime. Macek was now up to his armpits in it with Molly’s head close to his. Daniel couldn’t forget that Elena remained trapped in the vehicle they had left behind, although a quick glance towards the 4x4 failed to catch any further sight of her.

One long pull against the tree and 6 inches were reclaimed, the gnarled grey trunk shuddering under the strain. Another pull and another and Daniel could see that the Romanian was now further out of the bog and sliding more easily across its surface, the girl still clutched to his side, her long, dark hair straggling with mud and water.

Encouraged by his progress, Daniel leaned into the task even more strongly, and after a dozen more pulls, the Romanian was within touching distance.

As Macek felt the firmer ground under his outstretched arm, he began to flounder against it, trying to climb out.

‘Give me the girl,’ Daniel told him, tying the rope off to the tree and reaching his hand down.

The Romanian was having none of it. ‘Get back or I’ll push her under!’ he warned, an ugly look on his mud-streaked face.

‘For God’s sake, man!’ Daniel exclaimed, but one look at those implacable features forced him to withdraw a little. There was no question that Macek meant what he said.

With impressive strength, and using only his left hand on the rope, the big Romanian managed to haul himself upwards until his torso rested on ground that, while it couldn’t be called solid, at least took his weight. The effort left him gasping for breath and he released Molly to lie on the snow beside him. Her eyes were open, but her head fell back limply, skin pale beneath the grime.

Instinctively, Daniel started forward once more.

‘Get back!’ Macek growled, and suddenly there was the deadly gleam of steel at Molly’s throat.

Daniel froze, the nightmare of his past rising up to haunt him.

At his side, Taz rumbled his displeasure and Daniel slipped a hand in the dog’s collar.

The Romanian pulled himself into a sitting position, dragging the girl towards him. He was still breathing hard but had begun to shiver violently in the icy wind.

‘You try anything and the girl gets her throat cut,’ he told Daniel through chattering teeth. ‘Give me your jacket.’

‘She’s no use to you dead,’ Daniel reasoned.

‘Your jacket.’

Obediently Daniel removed his outer coat, his mind racing. With almost anyone else he might have been tempted to call their bluff, but not Macek. He would snuff the girl’s life out without a second thought if he were crossed. Hadn’t he done so with Marika? He had no compunction. Killing was just a matter of convenience as far as he was concerned.

‘And the other one.’ Macek gestured at Daniel’s leather jacket.

There was no point in protesting. Removing his mobile from the pocket, Daniel took it off, feeling the wind immediately cut through the jumper he wore underneath. How much worse it must be for Molly, wet to the skin.

‘Put one round the child,’ he said, without much hope.

‘Yeah, right.’ Macek smiled unpleasantly.

‘She’ll die if you don’t.’

‘She can have your jumper.’

Daniel hesitated and then stripped it off. He could only hope that Macek meant what he said.

‘Such a hero,’ Macek taunted, holding out his hand for the clothes.

Taz growled menacingly at what he saw as an aggressive movement from his enemy, and the tip of the knife jabbed into the white skin of Molly’s neck, drawing a trickle of blood.

‘Keep that dog back!’

‘Taz, down!’ Daniel said instantly. He was beginning to shiver himself now, partly with the cold and partly from fear of making a wrong move.

All at once his mind flashed back to the corner shop and in spite of the temperature, he felt a sweat break out on his body. He’d believed he had no choice then as well. He’d let the junkie walk away and he’d still cut the girl. Would the Romanian do the same? Would he see Molly as an asset, or was she now a liability? Once again there seemed to be nothing he could do, but after last time, he wasn’t prepared to accept that as an option.

With a dry mouth he held out the clothing.

‘Take it and go, but leave the girl, please.’

Macek ignored him. ‘Drop them and get back. Go on – further.’

Resignedly, Daniel did as he was told, all the while watching for the slightest wavering in Macek’s attention, for one split second when the knife might move from its deadly position as the Romanian changed.

There was none. Macek removed his wet denim jacket and shrugged himself into the dry clothes, transferring the knife from one hand to the other but never moving it far from Molly’s throat. Having taken care of himself, he slipped Daniel’s jumper over Molly’s head.

That was something, Daniel thought. A sign that, for the moment at least, he intended the girl to live.

Now the Romanian was on his feet, holding the child against him, her feet several inches clear of the snowy ground, the knife still pressing against her throat. Her eyes were half open now but uncomprehending, her body limp. On Macek’s huge frame, Daniel’s jacket and coat were a tight fit and didn’t meet at the front, but would nevertheless probably make the difference between life and terminal hypothermia. Molly had no such protection. Her denim skirt and anorak would have been inadequate for the conditions even had they been dry, and the jumper would do little to keep out the wind. Under the splashes of dirt, her face was taking on a translucent bluish tinge.

At that moment, the sound of a faint sobbing was carried to them on the wind, and Daniel glanced away across the bog towards the Nissan. He could see Elena’s face at the rear window. It seemed that whatever drug Macek had administered was wearing off and she was now awake and terrified at finding herself alone in the sinking car.

Weighed down by the engine and the mud that had oozed over the sill of the open door, the 4x4 had now listed forward and to the right, so that most of the bonnet was submerged and the mossy slime was creeping, inch by inexorable inch, up the windscreen.

‘What about Elena?’ he demanded of Macek, aware even as the words left his mouth that to expect any kind of mercy from the Romanian was futile. ‘We can’t just leave her there. We have to help her.’

‘Good idea,’ Macek responded. ‘You go help her. Molly and I will go for a little walk.’ He started to edge away from Daniel.

Desperately, Daniel looked from the Romanian to the sinking Nissan and back again. He couldn’t let Macek walk away with Molly any more than he could leave Elena to drown in the bog. What was tearing him apart was that he couldn’t see how to prevent either happening.

Suddenly, the wind dropped and another sound reached them. The distant buzz of an engine. A rhythmic, pulsating drone. A helicopter.

Daniel looked up, hope leaping once more. Had Hilary got through to Tom Bowden? Was the helicopter looking for them or responding to another call? Whatever its mission, he might be able to use its presence to his advantage, if it would only come closer.

He turned a triumphant look on Macek. ‘Do you hear that? They’re coming! You may as well give up. You can’t outrun a chopper.’

‘They’re miles away. They’ll never see us,’ the Romanian said confidently, but his eyes slid heavenwards even so.

‘I called them,’ Daniel lied. ‘They know where to look.’

Macek’s eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t believe you.’

‘I don’t care whether you do or not.’

‘They look for movement. I’ll keep very still.’

‘But I’ll jump up and down,’ Daniel promised.

The helicopter was definitely coming closer, and uncertainty began to show in Macek’s face.

‘If you try to signal to it, I’ll kill the girl.’

‘You do and you’ll have nothing to hide behind.’

‘And who am I hiding from? You?’ Macek sneered. ‘Don’t make me laugh.’

‘I think you’re forgetting Taz,’ Daniel observed.

The Romanian’s eyes flickered towards Taz, still lying where Daniel had told him to.

‘I’ve dealt with the dog before,’ he said dismissively, but Daniel could see the idea of a rematch didn’t exactly fill him with enthusiasm.

The sound of the helicopter had faded a little, lost among the hills and valleys of the moor, but suddenly it burst through, louder than before.

Even though he couldn’t see the machine, Daniel seized the moment.

‘There they are!’ he cried and waved his arms.

Falling for his bluff, Macek cast an involuntary glance upwards, the point of the blade shifting an inch or two away from Molly’s throat as he did so. The movement was so slight as to be almost imperceptible, but it offered just the glimmer of a chance and Daniel took it.

Taking two quick steps, he launched himself at the Romanian, both his hands fastening on Macek’s knife hand and bearing it downwards. Caught off-balance, Macek staggered backwards, the girl sliding from his grasp as his free arm windmilled wildly.

Slipping in the snow, the two men went down heavily with Daniel on top, still gripping the Romanian’s right wrist, one forearm landing across Macek’s neck. With satisfaction, he saw the Romanian’s eyes bulge and face redden as his air supply was cut off, and leaned harder.

Macek wasn’t about to surrender. Using his free hand, he began to pummel Daniel’s ribs and kidneys, trying to force him to move his arm to protect himself.

Grimacing, Daniel kept up the pressure, tensing the muscles of his torso in an attempt to limit the damage. He was vaguely aware of the dog circling, panting and whining in excitement, occasionally darting in to nip at Macek, but Daniel was blocking his access.

After what seemed an age, the battering began to lose some of its power, slowed and stopped. Daring to hope that the Romanian was finally weakening, Daniel risked shifting his weight slightly in order to exert even more force, and heard a coughing gurgle from Macek’s open mouth. His olive skin had progressed through crimson to puce, and as Daniel watched, his eyes turned up and his knife hand went limp, the blade dropping from nerveless fingers to land point first in the dirty snow.

Whatever his feelings for the man, it was no part of his plan to actually kill the Romanian, so Daniel eased the pressure on Macek’s throat just a fraction, his mind racing to think of some way of tying him up before he regained consciousness.

In the next instant, something hit him a crunching blow on the right side of his head and he pitched sideways into the snow without a sound.