The call cut off, leaving her with a dial tone.

She heard choppers a few moments before any sirens, and shading her eyes against the glare, she picked them out, flying up from the south. They were grey and looked very much like the helicopter that had lifted them out of New York.

Military then, she thought. Probably off that huge carrier in the port.

Although it was possible that one of the private military companies was responding. She knew they had contracts for emergency response as well as border and city security. The fierce glare made it difficult to pick out details, though, until one of the helicopters flew across the sun and she spotted the US markings on the other.

Fire trucks and a small fleet of ambulances arrived, horns blaring to clear a path down Gonzales Road. Behind them, she saw police cruisers and a couple of black SUVs she recognised as belonging to Sandline Security. The first responders shook themselves out, with the ambulances and fire engines pulling into two distinct laagers. Brown-shirted police officers in wide-brimmed cowboy hats threw open the doors of their vehicles as an amplified voice blared out of roof-mounted loudspeakers. Hundreds of spectators were now pouring in from New Town to watch the show, many of them holding drinks and food, taking shots with phone cameras.

‘Clear the area. Clear the area immediately. Go on – get out! This area is dangerous.’

Firefighters in yellow coveralls and heavy flame-retardant gear leapt from their bright red trucks and hurried to unload equipment with fast, practised movements. Jules ran to the nearest ambulance and collared the two men who emerged. One of them carried an old-fashioned stretcher. His name tag read Dwyer.

‘This way. Follow me!’ the Englishwoman ordered, inflecting her voice with the same command imperative her father would use for running off debt collectors. ‘There are casualties down this way. I was just there.’

‘Go on, then, love. We’ll follow,’ said Dwyer.

The brown-shirts and Sandliners were coordinating their efforts to clear the dock of gawking onlookers. The Sandline mercs, who stood out in their urban-grey camouflage coveralls, were no rougher than the cops, but Jules could see people moving out of their way with a far greater sense of urgency. She ignored them. She was safely associated with the paramedics now. For a moment she worried that she mightn’t be able to find the small motorboat that had gone out to get the Rhino, but as the crowds parted and began to move off the floating docks, she saw Sergeant Shah carefully manhandling the Rhino up on the decking. The American’s clothes were bloody and burnt and one arm was badly singed. Half of his hair seemed to be missing, but he was conscious and seemed to be trying to help his rescuers.

She bade the stretcher-bearers to follow her and led them down, ignoring the cries of any of the other injured. They weren’t her concern.