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– BANGED UP ABROAD: HELLHOLE –

We’d been told to expect a phone call from our contact in Caracas, and on the second day, it came. A jeep would pick us up from outside the hotel at 8 p.m. the following evening.

The next day, it pulled up, on time. We put on our bravest gangster-like walks as we strode towards it, but really, my legs felt so wobbly with terror, I was amazed I didn’t keel over.

We clambered into the jeep. It was really shitty, with wooden benches in the back and in bad need of a spray job. We’d expected a flash-looking car, but figured this was all part of the scam, to blend in and not draw attention, just like the Russian’s old Sierra.

There were three blokes in there, and they were shady-looking characters. It was dark, of course, and with their dark complexions we could barely see them. But we could see they were carrying guns: we’d never set eyes on a gun in our lives. Their pistols were poking out of their jeans’ waistbands – it was obvious they wanted us to see them; to send us a message and put the frighteners on us. We didn’t have a clue what was going on.

I looked into Paul’s eyes, and I could see he was scared. Sweat was pouring down my face, and I was chewing my lips with fear. But knowing he was there with me gave me strength.

No English was spoken, so it was completely disorientating. What were they talking about? Were they planning