McGregor turned, saw Abbott, and then returned his attention to Doyle. Red-faced Doyle. Spasming Doyle. And then, like a man possessed, McGregor did it. He shoved Doyle into the funnel.

Abbott, halfway along the gantry, stopped, not especially wanting to see Doyle dragged into the grinder. But he heard the screams all right. Even a man in the grip of a heart attack knows when his body is being sucked into a machine designed to turn it into mincemeat.

Abbott remembered himself, raised the rifle and took aim at McGregor. ‘Switch it off,’ he yelled. ‘Drop the gun and shut the machine off now, McGregor, or I swear to God I’ll put a bullet in you.’

‘Abbott, we’re on the same side,’ called McGregor over the pulverising sound of the grinder. ‘I mean, did you see that, pal? I just did you a favour. You should be thanking me, not threatening me.’

Even so, he did as he was told, dropping the gun, which fell with a metallic clank to the gantry and reaching to slap off the grinder.

Abbott glanced into the chute and the sight was as bad as he had feared. From below came more of the pop pops of Miller’s AR-15. He took a step back, sweeping the barrel of his own weapon across the floor below. If there were any enemy left, they were keeping a low profile.

‘Abbott, I’ve got two guys surrendering down here,’ called Miller from below. ‘What you want me to do with them?’

‘Zip them,’ he replied over his shoulder. ‘Find out if they know where any of the kids are, then tell them to get out of here. We’re about to blow the place.’

He turned his attention back to McGregor. ‘You and me are going to have a talk about this at some point. Right now, I need you out of my sight.’

To Brace he said, ‘Tango One, I have a guy coming out. Hands raised, unzipped. He’s a friendly. He’s getting in his car and leaving.’ Back to McGregor. ‘Later,’ he said warningly, ‘now get out,’ watching as McGregor made for the steps.

Abbott was now on the lookout for friendlies. Gun raised, he entered the office, saw the bodies of Cynthia Doyle and Finn, checked for signs of life, and found none. McGregor’s doing, no doubt.

‘Downstairs clear,’ he heard from Miller. ‘They’ve either legged it or they’re hiding.’

‘Sensible,’ said Abbott. ‘They know when they’re beat. Make a final sweep, would you? We’re leaving now.’

Next, he called for Ward, who in a few moments had joined him on the gantry, Miller covering his quick journey across the factory floor.