With bullets whizzing through the air and hissing in his ears, Ian threw caution and sticks aside and dove impulsively down the feared Forcella Rossa slope to evade what seemed like a certain demise.

As his skis cut through the snow at Olympic speed, he could smell the victory of escape.

He now needed a hideout, a secret spot, an impenetrable door, a seductive shoulder – and not least a stiff gin to calm the nerves and lighten up the mood.

Coming soon!