Ryan Bekker took a single step forward from the line of five men, and offered Steve West his hand. He was a big, ugly brute of a man, with the build of a tractor. “I’ll be your executioner today,” he said in a clipped South African accent. “Enjoy.”

“I don’t suppose you fancy a day off, pal,” said Steve.

Bekker shook his head. “You’ll get a five minute head start. Then we’ll come after you. And kill you.”

Steve could feel a pump of adrenaline in his veins. “Just a game, right?”

Bekker flashed up his watch. “The clock’s ticking.”

Steve started to run hard. After five years in the SAS, and five more as a mercenary for a private military corporation called Dudley Emergency Force – known as Death Inc. within its deadly trade - he reckoned he was as fit as any man. Even so….

Against Bekker, and his four thugs?

Who the hell knows?

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