As though playing some new version of musical chairs, Lady Norton had stood, as had Ross and Kennedy. Both were watching events on the ground, Abbott and Trent now exchanging gunfire.

Upon his perch, Scolar found himself the judge in a firefight. He had to make sure there was only one winner, though, and he took aim at Green, who was at that moment using the Acid Bath structure as cover to take shots at Trent. He found him. ‘Au revoir,’ he said, and squeezed the trigger.

Scolar’s head jerked up from the scope. Abbott had moved. The bullet meant for his heart had instead grazed his arm.

And down below, Abbott, who knew that he was fighting not one but two gunmen, that absence of gunfire meaning that it was a sniper based – Christ – it could be over a mile away. Whatever he did, he had to take this inside. He needed to find better cover. Cover with a roof, presumably.

He turned and limped away, ripping at the boiler suit to see the wound beneath. Just a graze, thank God. The pain might slow him down, but he wouldn’t have to worry about blood loss, at least. He turned, needing to find a better vantage point. He felt the warm blood consuming his arm and a slow tingling and numbness starting to take effect, looking down, realising that he was leaving a blood trail for Trent to follow, and then had an idea. He made his way to the darkened entrance of an attraction called Scales of Justice so that the blobs of blood suggested he had entered it. Next, he stripped off his overalls, bunching them hard up against his wound to soak up the blood, and then moved off to cover behind a booth opposite the Scales of Justice. There the position allowed him a view of the entrance, and that was all he needed.

In the conference room, Lady Norton turned to Kilgore. ‘Kilgore, I think they’re cheating. The bullet that hit our man, was that fired by Yellow? I don’t think so.’

‘Of course it was, Grandmama, don’t be a sore loser,’ roared Ross, who could barely remember a time when he had enjoyed himself more. If only he had drugs, he thought. If he had drugs, the situation would be perfect.

‘No, no,’ Lady Norton shook her head. ‘Something’s not right here. There’s another gunman.’

‘Somebody on the grassy knoll,’ snickered Ross.

‘If you like,’ she growled, returning her attention to her right-hand man. ‘Kilgore?’

‘I agree, ma’am,’ said Kilgore, looking to Kennedy.

‘Well, you would,’ sneered Kennedy as Kilgore switched his attention to Jeffrey Coombs in search of an executive decision. At the same time, Kennedy turned blazing eyes on Ross. ‘Settle down,’ he hissed quietly, but not quietly enough.