In short, Ross had resigned himself to being a makeweight. Just on board to boost the numbers. The winner would most likely be his grandmother or his mother, definitely not him or his brother. And anyway, he had his proxy, his avatar, his champion. Trent Saunders, who Kennedy had informed him was a most capable competitor. Even if Ross didn’t win, then he would surely compete with flair.

All of which still begged the question, what was he doing having his headache so mercilessly pummelled in this Zurich shooting range?

They reached an area where ear defenders hung on pegs and Kennedy wordlessly handed a pair to Norton, who snatched at them gratefully, only to find they made hardly any difference.

‘This way, sir,’ said Kennedy.

‘What do you mean, the French Foreign Legion?’ Norton demanded to know.

‘I mean, the man we are about to see was trained by the French Foreign Legion.’ Kennedy looked at him. ‘That makes him among the best in the world, sir,’ he said impatiently.

Ross Norton shrugged. By now they had reached an observation gallery where Ross was grateful to take a seat, barely listening as Kennedy talked him through the accuracy of the marksmanship below.

‘His name is Scolar,’ Kennedy explained.

‘I’m very pleased to hear it, Kennedy, but I thought we had already chosen our man. Trent Saunders. Him. He’s one of the best, you told me.’

Ross reared back a little when Kennedy turned to him, Kennedy’s previous air of irritation having given way to something approaching outright anger. His teeth were bared. His baldness shone. ‘As usual, I am trying to help you, and as usual, you are being a snivelling little shit in return.’

‘All right, all right,’ replied Ross, shrinking away.

‘Your grandfather loved gaming. But, more than anything, he loved to stack the odds in his favour. A fan of sports he may have been. Sportsmanlike, however, he very much was not.’

‘Are you saying my grandfather was a cheat?’

‘Of course he was a fucking cheat, you idiot. Your grandfather never did a straight or honest thing in his life.’

‘Christ, you do store things up, don’t you?’

‘I’ve often thought that you could have done with storing a few more things up yourself,’ said Kennedy. ‘Sir.’

‘And so I take it this trip is aimed at trying to restore my competitive edge? You’re hoping that comparing one with the other will give me a thirst for winning, is that it? I’m supposed to choose between Trent and this Scolar?’

‘You haven’t been listening to what I’ve been saying, have you, sir?’ said Kennedy.

Ross Norton rubbed his head. ‘Give me a break, will you?’

From below the firing had stopped at last. ‘Come on,’ said Kennedy, ‘let’s go and talk to Scolar.’