Time to end this thing once and for all.

Your feet are moving before you’ve even made a decision. It’s the work of a moment to slip between the palm fronds marking the edge of the pavilion, and out into the steaming, tropical night.

Tracking your assailant is hard work – at least, without getting caught. You stay back twenty or thirty feet, treading softly through the jungle, following in his footsteps where you can. He’s certainly not worried about making noise – but then, why would he be?

He’s obviously not expecting to be followed. And on this tiny island, with its micro-population of locals, tourists and yacht enthusiasts, he has no reason to be cautious.

The trail curves steeply uphill, and it’s probably an hour and a half before your quarry finally slows, breathing easily. He’s fitter than you are, but you knew that already; and you’re still in good enough shape to have followed him all the way up here without revealing yourself.

Twin shadowy domes loom suddenly out of the darkness, and you exhale quietly, recognising them. They’re just abandoned old sugar mills, left to rot by an island which no longer depends on plantations for income.

The Korean guy approaches the mill furthest away, pauses for a moment – then slips inside.

You slow to a stop, weighing up your options. On one hand, you could trek back down the mountain alone; following this guy into a building is dangerous, even if he’s not expecting it. On the other hand, though, you’ve spent an hour climbing after him – and it goes against every instinct in your body to give up now.