Neil.

The atmosphere had already been filled with the sound of gunfire by the time I left the torture room. I took slow, conscious steps on the concrete floor as the smoke of my cigarette drifted freely around me. My men spread out behind me with their weapons in their hands and their eyes flickering from one end of the corridor to the other.

As I stepped out in the open yard, the scene that welcomed me turned my smile into a dark grin.

There were dozens of bikes parked in a semicircle, ...