THE INFORMANT

"There is no worse feeling than realising someone you thought you could trust has gone against you..." - Katie Lee

The chrome plating on the barrel of Cormack's semi-automatic handgun was glistening in the hazy light of the early evening as he stood in front of me on the bridge with nothing but unadulterated rage in his eyes.

As the sun continued to set, he began hurling out a series of insults and wild accusations, mainly centred around his suspicion that I was working as an informant and had been helping to build a case against him for months, whilst I protested my innocence and tried to shift the blame onto someone else, anyone else, who was a remotely plausible culprit.

But there was no changing his mind, and he was soon pointing his firearm in my direction in an even more determined manner.

Despite his more aggressive stance, I tried to maintain an air of nonchalance, not allowing an iota of fear to become visible on my face, until ultimately, fuelled by a concoction of adrenaline and bravado, I started goading him to do it, foolishly believing he wouldn't have the guts to actually pull the trigger on the weapon he was holding.

But I was wrong.

And as he stepped closer, preparing to fire, in a desperate last-ditch attempt to avoid the bullets, I leapt off the bridge and began taking the short drop towards the shallow water below.

I heard the splash, but I didn't hear any bangs.

And from somewhere up above me on the bridge I could just make out the sound of Cormack slipping back into his natural Irish brogue and calling out to our Director: "It's got jammed, so it has. I can't do a thing with it!"

Which meant I'd just got soaking wet and freezing cold for nothing, and we were going to have to reshoot the whole thing...