Connor took his frustration out on the muk yan jong. He hammered the wooden post with his fists, beating a furious rhythm as he practised his Iron Hand strikes. Over the past couple of days Lăolao had switched the sack of rice to one of heavy sand, then that morning, gravel, to further condition his hands. She’d continued to test his Iron Shirt technique too and, whether he was getting the hang of it or was now simply numb to the pain, he no longer collapsed every time she whacked him in the gut. Zhen said that was progress.

But infuriatingly slow progress was being made with both the flash drive and their escape plan.

They still hadn’t heard anything from Zhen’s cousin and time was fast running out. As much as he’d built a rapport with the austere Lăolao – if one could call being beaten daily by a stick a ‘rapport’ – Connor didn’t doubt that her week-long deadline remained in place. They’d be forced to leave their safe haven in less than forty-eight hours. Yet they had nowhere else to go.

The flash drive was their only trump card, their only hold over Equilibrium. If they could access the information, then they might be able to use it to their advantage – either to threaten Equilibrium or to undermine its efforts to capture them. Sat Buddha-like in the corner of the courtyard, his IT-savvy friend was working all hours to create a decryption program, his brow permanently knitted as he typed in streams of complex coding.

Connor shook the tension from his hands, breathed in and regenerated the qi in his fists. The pummelling of the post kept his mind off the constant threat that loomed over them and the impossible task ahead. But he couldn’t keep his mind off Charley …

Her angelic face haunted his dreams and her gentle reassuring voice interrupted his thoughts. His heart ached at her absence as well as her treachery. He still struggled deep down to believe that she’d turned traitor. Yet Colonel Black had been convinced. The video of her disclosure had been proof, and Mr Grey had confirmed her collusion with the enemy. Her betrayal was irrefutable. But how Connor wished he could still be in her arms – to feel safe, secure and happy as he’d done before his whole world had fallen apart.

Connor resumed his relentless battering of the muk yan jong. As he thumped the hard wood, he wondered what had happened to their friends, instructors and the other Buddyguard recruits. Where were they? Was Equilibrium holding them to ransom? Or had they now been killed like Bugsy and Colonel Black? He felt a surge of anger at the idea. Fury fuelling his punches and fanning the flames of his qi, Connor let loose a barrage of strikes against the post. The muk yan jong rocked under his onslaught …

Then Connor stopped, panting heavily, his rage spent. He stared in slack-jawed awe at the post. His knuckles had left dents in the wood. In his heightened emotional state, he’d somehow mastered Iron Hand!

But Connor didn’t get long to savour his accomplishment. All of a sudden he had the distinct feeling he was being watched. He glanced over his shoulder. Amir’s head was buried in his screen. Lăolao was asleep in her bedroom. And Zhen, he knew, was out shopping.

Then Connor caught a flicker of movement. A young boy’s face peered through the slats of the courtyard window. Their eyes met and there was a moment of alarm in both their gazes. The boy bolted before Connor could reach him. At the same time the front door swung open and Zhen came bustling in.

‘Good news!’ she said, dumping the two shopping bags. ‘My cousin has a shift driving haulage to Hong Kong.’

Connor rushed to the shutter. The little window overlooked a narrow dead-end path that was occasionally frequented by old men fishing in the murky canal. But that afternoon no one was there. Then Connor spotted the young boy scurrying across the bridge.

‘He says he’ll need money to bribe the customs officers and cover his own risk,’ said Zhen, oblivious to the fleeing child. She bit her lower lip and looked over at Connor awkwardly. ‘Fifty thousand yuan.’

‘What?’ exclaimed Amir, his concentration broken at the startling amount. ‘We don’t have that sort of money.’

Losing sight of the boy, Connor glanced down at his wrist. ‘What about this?’ he said, offering Zhen the bracelet the birthday girl Maria had given him in Mexico. In all the frantic and crazy turmoil of the past fortnight, he hadn’t taken it off and, until that moment, had forgotten all about it. ‘It’s solid gold, worth several thousand dollars.’

Zhen inspected the gleaming bracelet. ‘That should cover it,’ she said, pocketing the piece of jewellery.

‘So when do we go?’ asked Amir.

‘In two days.’

‘Two days!’ exclaimed Connor, thinking of the little boy who’d spied on them. ‘We might not have two days.’