Kilgore pushed open the door, on the other side of which was a set of austere stone steps leading upwards. They ascended to the balcony above and here at last was another guard. He carried an M-16, same as Wilson and List, and greeted his two colleagues by name, waving them on to a room further along. Through another door, into a staffroom with a line of lockers on one side, a row of pegs on the other, and a piece of elaborate graffiti. ‘Killer Crew’.

‘So,’ said McGregor, ‘today has been an interesting morning for the Nortons. They’ve been meeting each other’s proxies for the very first time.’

‘But we proxies don’t get a look at each other?’

‘Where’s the fun in that?’ said McGregor. ‘Come on, you’re the last. As soon they see you, the game begins.’ He indicated a set of overalls. ‘You’re green. The competing colours are yellow, orange and bright blue.’

‘Just four of us? I was expecting five.’

‘Simon Norton has recently expired of a heroin overdose. Consumed by his grief for his inspirational grandfather, no doubt,’ said Kilgore drily. ‘As a result, we have one fewer competitor and therefore one fewer proxy.’

McGregor indicated the overalls. ‘You need to put it on now.’

‘Green’s not my colour.’

‘We’re not going the full Reservoir Dogs on this, are we? You’re green. There’s no discussion.’

‘Sure,’ said Abbott. He raised his zip-tied hands. ‘You’re going to need to get me out of these first.’

‘Aye, that’s true,’ said McGregor, almost ruefully. ‘Here,’ he produced Abbott’s Gerber knife, ‘I’ll use this, shall I?’

I’ll be taking that off you later. ‘Sure.’ Abbott proffered his hands. ‘Be careful, though, it’s very sharp. The last thing you want to do is give me a nasty nick. I’d hate to have to retire with injury, especially when I’ve come so far.’

‘No danger of that, pal,’ said McGregor. He glanced behind himself to check that Wilson and List were paying attention. In return they shouldered the assault rifles, watching Abbott carefully. To one side stood Kilgore, looking on with an almost bemused expression as McGregor reached forward and – snick – slashed the zip-tie.

The plastic dropped to the floor. McGregor stepped smartly back, already holding the knife away, as though concerned Abbott might make a sudden grab for it. Abbott’s eyes went from him to Wilson and List, to Kilgore. He rubbed his wrists. He turned, went to the pegs and reached for the set of green overalls.

‘Now,’ said Kilgore, ‘if you’d like to try on your overalls I shall go and check to see whether the competitors are ready for you.’

He walked to the staffroom window where the blind was drawn. ‘Perhaps you’d like to survey the battleground while you wait.’