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they bundled Masoud into the luggage area. Slater guessed that they were arguing as to whether they should gag the boy, hit him again, tie him up, or all three. He had no idea which man had the gun and which man the knife. The basic rule was to assume that both men had firearms. He was two yards from the nearest man now.
    One yard.
    With the rear doors open all that Slater could see was a waist and a pair of legs. The black windcheater had ridden up, showing two inches of T-shirt above the unbelted jeans. Light flooded from the interior of the vehicle.
    With precision, Slater planted the four-inch Mauser blade to its hilt in the nearer man's spleen. In the same movement, letting go the knife, he brought down the carved prow of the chair-leg on the sacro-iliac joint at the base of the second man's spine.
    The nearer man froze, almost senseless with pain, and Slater jammed the half-door of the Cherokee against his back. Bellowing, the second man reared
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    yards Slater, feinting with the knife. But his pelvis id sacrum had been smashed by that first, terrible 3W. Will power propelled him a further step and jen, twisting in agony, he fell to one knee. The first man, eyes dulled with shock, was ightening up in light from the back of the ^herokee now, and this time Slater saw the dull glint 'gun-metal. Half-turning, he swung his improvised ib in a scything back-hander, felt the splintering inch as it connected with the side of his attacker's
    The firearm clattered to the road. Both men were down. The knifeman appeared to \ praying, the gunman's prostrate body was shaking as I in the throes of some desperate rape. Who hesitates, dies. Think detonator. Think snade.
    | Slater, his system screaming with adrenaline, didn't skate. Snatching up the Smith and Wesson from the ter, he put two .45 rounds into the base of each I's skull.
    i For thirty seconds, heart pounding, he stood there rith the dead men at his feet. The police would be >ng soon, he was sure - assuming, that was, that Mrs ckay had done her stuff. If necessary he could flag awn a car, although not that many cars used this road night. Apart from the school and a few farms, it Idn't really go anywhere.
    Masoud, he thought. I must see what those bastards done to Masoud. He took a step towards the lerokee - and to his horror saw it begin to move
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    away in a cloud of exhaust, rear doors flapping.
    Sweet Jesus, thought Slater. There was a driver. But where . . . ?
    He must have seen him come over the wall, he realised. Flattened himself in the front of the car. And hearing the shots had decided - entirely sensibly - to get the hell out.
    With two flat tyres, however, the Cherokee wasn't going anywhere. It managed twenty yards and then came to a halt.
    Running, Slater caught up with the vehicle. He waited a half-dozen yards behind it, the revolver pointing at the doors, which had swung shut on the recumbent form of Masoud.
    A half-minute passed, and then a male voice, Geordie-accented, came from the rear compartment.
    'I'm coming out.'
    The rear doors opened once more. Against the light Slater could not see the man's features - only that he was wearing a fur cap with ear-flaps and holding a barely conscious Masoud by the collar. Condensing breath rose smokily from both figures. Was the driver armed? Slater had to assume he was, that a weapon was pressed to the small of Masoud's back.
    Arms outstretched, he thumbed back the revolver's hammer and trained the inch-long barrel on the driver's head. He'd made this shot many times in training -- the shot through the chin that passed through the hostage-taker's lower skull and obliterated the cerebellum, ensuring that not even the slightest
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    [reflex movement threatened the hostage's life. Out there in the dark, however, it was a desperately risky I play: the heavy Smith and Wesson was the last weapon I he would have chosen for precision shooting in low [light conditions. An inch off target