It’s a drug, I told myself, Fight. You don’t feel good, it’s an illusion. I started to fight it. Fighting it felt good. I could see kindness in Sleder’s face; it was full of kindness. Resist. Fight. Why? He’s a nice man, they’re all nice men; they’re kind and they want to help me. Let them help. Answer their questions; if you answer them it will enable them to help you. There was a terrific, wonderful feeling from the centre of my body, which radiated outwards, basking every inch of me in happiness. I loved these people.

‘What’s your name?’

‘Max Flynn. It’s Maximilian, actually, Max for short.’

‘How old are you, Max?’

‘Thirty-two.’

‘Who do you work for?’

Resist. Must resist. Drugged. Fight. But they’re so nice. Everything is so nice. Trap. ‘I work for Noddy.’

‘Do you, Max? What do you do for Noddy?’

‘I don’t, I don’t really work for Noddy. I lied.’

‘We didn’t think you did, Max.’

‘I didn’t mean to lie. Actually I—’ Resist. Fight. Don’t talk about work. Tell a story. Can’t. Got to. Make it plausible. ‘I’m a journalist.’

‘Are you, Max?’

Sleder’s face started jerking up and down. I closed my eyes and opened them. He was sticking his tongue out at me. I stuck mine out back, but he didn’t laugh; in fact, he didn’t move at all. I heard a little girl’s voice. Sleder leaned forward, close to me, and then he disappeared from my line of vision. Something strange was going on, but I couldn’t figure out quite what. That good feeling was going fast; I was coming back into reality and I wasn’t sure that I wanted to – not until I saw her face staring at me. The final drops of the Pentothal drained from my bloodstream, and I found I was in a railway compartment with four dead men and a stunning red-head with a Smith and Wesson automatic in her hand.

She stood, frozen to the spot, her face sheet-white, and her gun-hand shaking.

‘Thanks,’ I said.

She shook her head, and looked nervously around. She looked like she was going to burst into tears. ‘I’ve never killed anyone before,’ she said.

‘You should take it up professionally – you’d make a fortune.’

She looked at me, and some of the shock went from her face. She grinned. I had last seen her a shade over two years ago, as she had walked into the departure lounge at Kennedy Airport, and disappeared from my life. She hadn’t been very pleased with me on that occasion, after I had caused her treasured Jensen to be riddled with bullet holes and badly bashed, but from the expression on her face, and her actions of the last couple of minutes, it appeared she wasn’t still quite so upset about it.