‘The rules of the game are that I should invigilate as I see fit,’ said Coombs, doing his best to meet the glares of the Norton clan. He was feeling far less secure in this environment than he had before, when he had addressed them from behind the safety of his desk. The presence of all these weapons was making him feel very nervous indeed. ‘If any of the other proxies decides to remove their overalls then the same leniency shall apply.’

Underneath her overalls, Heidi wore a T-shirt with the name ‘Sweaty Betty’ across the front. A short little rah-rah skirt. Never had anybody looked less like an ex-special forces operative.

Clifford Levine leaned towards his security consultant, Monroe, whispering, ‘This is either very clever or very fool-hardy. What do you think?’

‘She knows what she’s doing,’ said Monroe loyally, but concern was etched on his face. Some remnants of his relationship with Heidi remained, clearly.

Below them in the park itself, Sergei moved stealthily, skirting a lake area with a pier that featured an automated crumbling effect. Tethered boats featuring skulls on poles bobbed on water dimpled by raindrops. He felt vulnerable, exposed. He was grateful when he came up on a small, sheltered area below a sign that said, ‘Rest in Peace’.

He heard a voice. ‘Hello? Hello? Is anybody there? Can anybody help me?’

Sergei lifted his weapon. ‘Hello?’ he said. ‘Who is that?’

The voice came again. ‘Who are you? What am I doing here? I was in a bar. I was talking to a guy and the next thing I know, I’m here. What’s going on?’

‘Show yourself,’ demanded Sergei. The voice was coming from the other side of the Rest in Peace shelter. He edged carefully around, only just resisting the impulse to put a round through the side of it. It could be a trap. But then, on the other hand – if this woman was genuine – it could simply be a stunt dreamed up as part of the game, just to make things more interesting for the competitors. What’s more, he could use the girl. Use her as a hostage. He came round the side of the shelter quickly, catching her by surprise. She was crouched and, as soon she saw the gun, put her hands up, trembling.

‘Stand up,’ he told her.

She did as she was asked.

‘Lift the T-shirt.’

She did.

‘All the way,’ he told her, motioning with the gun. She did. Just a bra. Just a bra and the rah-rah skirt.

‘Lift the skirt,’ said Sergei.

‘Please,’ she whimpered. ‘I don’t know what’s going on . . .’

‘Just lift the skirt, lady. I need to check you’re not armed.’

‘What do you mean “armed”? I’m not armed. Do I look like I’m armed?’