The humidity rose with the sun, which was soon blotted out by a billowing tide of slate-grey clouds that gathered in a great sweeping front before boiling over one another to form a thunderhead so dark as to appear deep purple.

A stiff breeze turned into a hot wind, whipping leaves and branches at their moorings. It blew dust from the exposed patches of earth that had been parched by a week of sun and mingled with the seedy heads of dandelions in a whirling spray.

When the first gentle patter of rain began to fall it was light and sporadic, as if it were the first few drops to escape confinement from the vast leaden dam that was moving ever closer in the skies over Pebble Deeping. The same skies that darkened as the minutes passed, until there was an oppressive gloaming shrouding the farm; making the old stone buildings look alive with shadow and full of malice, giving the impression that night was about to fall.

The hillside behind the village seemed to reach up out of the earth and kiss the approaching thunderhead, so low did the storm stoop. Blue-white shards of lightning flew sporadically in reply, accompanied by deep, visceral peals of thunder that reverberated around the shallow valley in which we lay.

I did not see Sharp's car arrive.

I completely missed witnessing Martha, her hands tied behind her back, being shoved from the rear passenger door; unable to prevent herself from stumbling and dashing her knees and face on the cobbled farmyard.

I was not at Ty's side as the loan shark's two minders flanked him with guns drawn and gripped in a crab-like combat stance. They carefully patted him down, removing the pistol from the holster that held it strapped tight under the left side of his rib cage.

I had been in the barn, and was just descending from the hayloft, when the scene played itself out. My eye line peeked out of the open oak doors, and I froze momentarily, trying to take it in. After several long seconds of shock, my brain defrosted and I leaped back into the interior, silently praying that no-one had seen me.

Out in the courtyard stood Sharp; dressed in an ankle-length grey trench coat which fluttered open in the gathering breeze. Martha knelt by his side, her hands bound behind her, her head bowed and the darkness of a fresh bruise high on her face.

Sharp's palm cupped the top of her head, resting on the knot of her ponytail as if she were a faithful and obedient dog that he had recently patted. His other hand gripped the shining chrome of a pistol.

Ty was held in a firm arm-lock from behind by one of Sharp's men, while the other drove punch after punch into his face and midriff, the thumps echoing across to where I cowered in the barn.

My heart pounded so loudly that I thought it was about to burst from my chest, adrenaline coursed through my system in those first moments, and my eyes darted around feverishly as my mind tried to regain some control. Slowly, I became less alarmed that my breathing would give me away and I regained a measure of composure.

Some minutes had passed and, now that the edge had been taken off the initial rush, I was left afraid, ashamed, but with a growing anger beginning to boil in my stomach.

I could make out vague words and sentences, carried to me on the wind. Sharp was repeating over and over "Where is it?" Ty was grunting as the fists crashed into him, forcibly expelling the air in his lungs. Droplets of sweat flew from the brow of the man beating Edge, mingling with the rain which had turned from a smattering to a downpour.

Ty's head remained upright, rolling faintly with the blow each time his assailant struck, his hair whipping with the force of the impact. As I watched, Sharp gave a command and the man holding Ty released him and headed for the farmhouse with his colleague. Edge sank to all fours and spat with a reddish hue into the dirt.

When the two henchmen had entered the house, Ty raised his head and fixed Sharp with a look I had seen a few times before; a burning malice that implied imminent harm. The loan shark laughed and said something that the wind snatched away from me, but his meaning was clear enough when he grasped Martha's ponytail and yanked her head upright and placed the barrel of his pistol to her temple. Ty sat back on his heels, straightened his back, clasped his hands in his lap and seemed to be taking deep breaths.

It wasn't just Edge suffering from an onset of rage. I too was struggling with a cocktail of emotions. Anger and hate boiled within me, partly directed at Sharp for coming here and threatening Martha like that, partly directed at myself for skulking in the barn when I could have been out there helping, if only my limbs weren't frozen with fear.

Don't be an idiot, I thought. What could I realistically do? Charge out there and give Sharp a good telling off?

No, my mind raced, I needed to call the police. I patted my pockets and swore under my breath, my phone was in the farmhouse kitchen. It might as well have been embedded a foot up a tiger's arse for all the use it could do me.

In fact, if it were somehow concealed within the lower digestive tract of a man-eater, I suspected that I would have had more chance of retrieving it unharmed than from its current location.

I reassessed my situation. There was only one way out of the barn and that was the large double doors that led out into the farmyard where my friend and the woman I loved kneeled at gunpoint.

Loved? Did I say that? Fuck...

No time to worry about that now, I needed a plan and it seemed that my only option was to bide my time and wait for an opportunity to act and swing the situation back in our favour. I inched along the wall towards the door, pressing myself into the wood as if it were the welcome embrace of a wanton woman, until I came to the tiny gap between the door and the jamb. I peeped through this crack and found that I could observe the tableau in the farmyard without being seen.

Before I could elaborate further upon this; the most brilliant of plans, Sharp's men exited the farmhouse and crossed the cobbles towards Sharp and the penitent Martha with long purposeful strides.

One of them tossed a small object to Sharp who promptly dropped it to the ground and brought his heel down heavily upon it. That put paid to my mobile phone, and with it the chances of ringing for help.

The phone-finding lackey spoke quietly to Sharp, then gestured at his colleague who held up Ty's Heckler and Koch submachine gun with some triumph. A look of genuine surprise crossed Sharp's face, and he cast a smirk in Edge's direction.

The loan shark took the weapon and weighed it in his hands, feeling the grip and sighting down the barrel at Ty. Suddenly, he spoke to the man who had retrieved the gun and handed it back. The man drew the slide and moved the selector switch to fully automatic, then strode across to Ty's Land Rover and pulled the trigger. The magazine emptied in one smooth discharge, the barrel bucking jerkily in the man's hands as he traversed it across the front of the car.

Astonishingly the only noise audible above the wind and rain was a gentle phut-phut-phut-phut as the bullets left the built-in suppressor at an incredible rate and thudded into the engine block of the Land Rover, rending large holes in the bonnet and sending tiny slivers of metal flying as they ripped into pipes, valves and pistons.

The magazine was empty in a couple of seconds and it was clear that the car would be going nowhere in the foreseeable future; a growing puddle of oil was gathering beneath the front of the car from the shattered engine. Still, the ex-soldier was not finished. Clearly enjoying the chance to use such a weapon, he ejected the jungle-taped magazine and inverted it, ramming home the fresh clip. He then walked around the vehicle and put a burst into each tyre which not only deflated them but flayed the rubber into long ragged strips.

Satisfied that the Land Rover was out-of-commission, he returned and passed his boss the empty weapon.

Sharp took the gun gleefully and inspected the destruction it had wrought upon the car with a smile on his face. Ty had regained his feet during the termination of his beloved car and was standing watching on implacably. I saw him catch Martha's eye and give her a little wink, she did not seem to respond, and I wondered if she was in shock.

Sharp walked up to Ty and said something which was whisked away from me in the strengthening wind. Edge replied and shook his head. This time Sharp shouted in his face loud enough for me to hear him.

"Where's the fucking gold! I warned you not to fuck with me!" he screamed, making the transition from essentially calm to unstable with frighteningly rapidity.

Again, Ty answered with a shake of the head. At this, Sharp turned and made to walk toward Martha before snapping around with the suddenness of a cobra striking its prey. He delivered a solid blow to Ty's temple with the butt of the HK and Edge crumpled to the cobbles like a felled house of cards.

Sharp yanked Martha to her feet by her ponytail and I winced in unison with her. The two ex-army men picked up the unconscious Ty by the armpits and followed the loan shark out of the farmyard and down towards the river with my friend dragging between them.

*

I watched them walk out of sight behind the farmhouse as they made their way down the meadow in the direction of the watercourse that ran along the foot of Ty's property.

My heart was racing faster than my mind, which was still trying to cope with events.

This was it; this was my chance to get out of here, to go for help. What could I do? It would take me at least five or ten minutes to run to our nearest neighbours to try to use their phone to contact the police. What if they weren't in? Then it would take me longer to get into the village.

What would I tell them? It might take some time to explain the situation, then even if an armed response unit rushed out here, it would take the best part of an hour to arrive.

I was halfway across the farmyard when these thoughts played out, and a further implication struck me. By the time any meaningful help arrived, Sharp may have seriously harmed both Martha and Ty, even killed them.

I ran to Sharp's car and looked through the driver's window, there were no keys in the ignition, and I was too scared to try the door in case an alarm was triggered. I would be no use to Edge if those men caught me too.

It was at this point that the capricious nature of consciousness surfaced within me. I acknowledged that if I fled for help, I would be abandoning my friends to their fate, and that was something I didn't feel that I could live with.

I had sworn that nothing would happen to her and deep inside my brain a little tinkling bell was reminding me that I was not entirely powerless to resist the evil of our current situation.

I turned on my heel, ran back to the barn and climbed the hayloft ladder as swiftly as I could. I flung my sleeping bag aside and dug my hands into the compacted straw beneath until I felt the firm grip of the Glock 20 pistol butt in the palm of my hand.

I drew a deep breath and then ejected the magazine. I went through the motions of checking that the gun was loaded in the same way I had done when Ty had first given me the weapon, then I tucked it into the waistband of my trousers and made my way back out into the farmyard.

The storm was now in full flow, and I was soaked to the skin as the thunderhead moved directly overhead. Fat, heavy droplets hit the parched ground, sending up little plumes of dust where they impacted.

I crept across the farmyard to the farmhouse wall and edged around it so that I could peek down into the meadow.

They were almost down at the river; Sharp hurrying Martha along with repeated shoves to the back, his two henchmen still dragging Ty between them. They all faced away from me and I took a chance, running out from the wall of the farmhouse, bending low at the waist against the wind and rain until I was at the base of the old fort's mound and out of their sight.

I threw myself down in the long grass, the raindrops rustling the surrounding blades, and instinctively felt my waistband to ensure that the Glock was still there.

Assured that I was hidden by the terrain, I got to my feet and dashed around the base until I was in the loose scrubland that lay along the river. I caught sight of Sharp and the others away at the riverbank to my right and dropped into a crawl, making for the trees that ran along the bankside path.

I made it with a swift crouching scuttle and hid behind a sturdy trunk, breathing hard and sucking much-needed oxygen into my lungs. The rasping I felt was drowned out by the rumble of thunder, now immediately overhead.

Having silenced my wheezing, I crept into a position from where I could see what was happening. Sharp stood, his hands thrust deep into his trench coat pockets, as his men held Ty over the edge of the river and repeatedly dunked his head into the flow until he regained consciousness, spluttering and coughing.

Ty was then rolled onto his back while Sharp grabbed Martha's hair and drew a knife from its sheath and pressed it to her neck. I could see her flinch from where I hid, and an image of Jonah's corpse jumped into my mind.

Anger flared within me again. I thought about reaching for the Glock, but I had just as much chance of hitting Martha as Sharp from this range, and if I missed it would be curtains for all of us. Something must have been said, because Ty began nodding vigorously and was helped to his feet by Sharp's men.

The loan shark laughed, motioning for Edge to move quicker as he started a shambling stumble down the path towards the boathouse pool and my current hiding place.

I soon realized what Ty was doing, he was going to give Sharp the Roman coins in the hope that he would be satisfied and leave. I mumbled a quick prayer and made a hasty retreat into the scrubland, half-running, half-crawling from bush-to-bush until I saw the wooden rear wall of the boathouse.

I judged that I had about thirty seconds until Ty led them down the path into the clearing. I decided that this wouldn't be sufficient to get into the ramshackle boathouse itself, so I scurried behind the largest tree in sight that still afforded me a view, some twenty metres from the pool. As Edge rounded the bend of the riverbank and entered the clearing ahead of the others, there was a bolt of lightning and the rainfall somehow intensified, making a murmurous noise as it burst among the leaves and foliage all around us.

Rain streamed from the heavens like God's power-shower, drumming off the ground and hissing into the churning water like a thousand snakes. My T-shirt clung to my back like a second skin as I burrowed into the mossy earth and hoped that I couldn't be seen from the clearing.

The party stopped on the riverbank opposite the pool and, after a little encouragement, Ty jumped into the water. Raindrops rippled all around him as he made his tortuous way towards the rock pile where the holdall lay concealed beneath the surface.

He left my line of sight and I inched around the tree trunk to get a better view. I could see Martha, wet-through, a sodden strand of hair hanging across her face. She was shivering uncontrollably and rocking slightly. She was definitely going into shock, and I couldn't blame her. It was only adrenaline keeping me from heading the same way.

Ty got to the rock pile and started to remove the stones holding the bag down. It took him several minutes, and he was obviously still groggy from the blow he had received. The rain began gathering in puddles around me as I crouched, forming a muddy mulch into which I became slowly mired. Finally, Ty ducked under the surface of the pool and brought up the holdall, which he cradled to his chest as he made slow progress back towards the bank.

He seemed to lack the strength to haul himself clear of the water, and was dragged back onto the side by the two henchmen while Sharp watched on, hands still ensconced in the folds of his trench coat while rivulets of rainwater ran from his bald head.

Ty struggled to his feet as one of the men opened the holdall and examined the contents, bringing a fistful of coins out into such daylight as there was to gain a better look at them. He held them out to Sharp who began poring over them, wiping away muck and squinting in the flashing light of the storm. After several seconds' inspection he threw the objects to the ground, snatched the bag angrily and upended the contents onto the riverbank.

Coins and fragments of pottery rained from within and bounced along the muddy path. Sharp dug into the empty holdall in a last attempt to find what he wanted, and then let out a scream of rage.

He threw the offending bag at the man who had passed it to him and then reached inside his trench coat. In one fluid motion, he withdrew a chrome-plated pistol that glinted in the lightning and levelled it at Ty, who stood panting on the edge of the bank.

The discharge as Sharp pulled the trigger blended into a great peal of thunder, but the effect on Ty was not reduced. The impact of the bullet hitting him lifted him clean off his feet and propelled him backwards through the air.

As if in slow motion, Edge's body twisted; his arms flailing for a second as if trying to grab some imaginary rope, before he fell into the river with a hefty splash.

It was some seconds before Ty's body surfaced; face down, in the main body of the stream. Though the current was rapidly taking him away from where I hid, I could still see the swirling ribbons of red that trailed behind his still form in the eddies of the river.