‘Right,’ he said, exhaling sharply. ‘I’m not going to tell you how to do that. Just get it done. And you’re right, of course. I’m sorry. Kicking in the fucking door and killing every motherfucker inside probably isn’t going to help. No matter how satisfying it might be to contemplate. My apologies, Larrison. I just . . .’ he fought back the urge to vomit and a painful surge of indigestion, ‘it’s just that we’re so close to nailing this I don’t want it to fall apart at the last moment. So let’s get on it.’

Culver hung up the phone without saying goodbye. Dizziness almost knocked him back to the mattress when he tried to stand, forcing him to lean against the wall and suck in a couple of long draughts of air. When the dark blurs at the edge of his vision receded, he pushed himself off into the small en-suite bathroom and ran a hot shower. He needed to clear his head and think. And maybe throw up properly.

Fucking pizza, he thought. I’ve got fucking food poisoning from that four cheese son of a bitch. He leaned against the sink and struggled to draw in a lungful of air. His reflection in the mirror looked wretched. He was positively green, and dark black pouches stood out under his eyes. He shook off his own problems, however. He had more important things to deal with.

Incomplete information. That was the problem.

Monroe had done her job. She had punched through Blackstone’s defences, and although Jed had not seen the data, Larrison assured him it was enough to bring down the Governor for good. So there was that. It wouldn’t be a matter of just dropping the file on his desk and telling Mad Jack that he was going down. It would have to be handled with some finesse. It might even mean giving the bastard a way to escape honourably. As much as Jed seethed with a hunger to revenge himself on this cocksucker for all of the trouble he caused, he also recognised there were larger questions in play. There was no point taking Blackstone down if he pulled down the temple around him.

And there was still Monroe to consider. They had no idea why Monroe, or at least the locator chip tracking her handset, had suddenly crossed Fort Hood and come to rest in Blackstone’s residence.

A terrible thought occurred to Jed. Terrible, and yet heavy with possibility. It brought his acid reflux surging up painfully, all but unbearably.

If Monroe had proven to herself that Blackstone’s link to Baumer was not just incidental, might she have decided to settle any perceived personal debt with Mad Jack, in spite of his own direct order to the contrary?