If the Iranians had nuclear technology, then the balance of power would shift and Israel would be tempted to strike before an Iranian delivery system could be perfected. It was no secret that the Israelis had been equipping their fighters with long-range fuel tanks and performing practice runs over the Mediterranean for the past five years. Of course Iran would retaliate, other countries would take the opportunity to take a bite out of Israel while it was occupied, Israel in turn would up the ante, and pretty soon the whole goddamn continent would be on fire. Forget about oil from the Middle East for the next few decades. The only winner there would be Russia, who still had billions of barrels of its own black gold held in reserve.

Hammerson knew an Israeli attack would be a waste of time as the Iranians tended to bury their secret bases so deep that even the best ground-penetrating bunker-busters would only sever the supply tunnels. In a month they’d just dig ’em back out. Best way to deal with it was to send in a small team to infiltrate and destroy the capability from within. Shavit had agreed; most likely that was what he’d wanted all along.

Hammerson picked up a small bayonet-shaped letter opener from his desk and turned it over in his fingers. He smiled grimly. Okay, I’ll roll the dice and see what that old fox Shavit is up to.

The phone on his desk rang again.

A sickly faced Lieutenant Marshal and two enormous military orderlies stood with their backs up against the tiled wall of the hospital room. On the floor at their feet were three broken syringes, their contents never administered. One of the orderlies had a swelling black eye and his arm hung at an unnatural angle from a dislocated shoulder.

On the bed, Alex Hunter’s body seemed at war with itself. His teeth were bared and both arms, broken free from the restraints, hammered at everything around him. The heavy metal cabinets either side of the cot were heavily dented, the one on his left showing a deep split in the quarter-inch steel.

Captain Graham, his eyes fixed on the carnage within the room, was speaking frantically into the phone. ‘He’s having an episode – he’s tearing us apart.’

‘Put me through,’ Hammerson said.

Graham hurriedly pressed the communication button and the major’s stern voice boomed through the speaker in Alex’s room.

‘Arcadian!’

The EEG flattened and Alex quietened. A few seconds later, he opened his eyes.

‘Captain Hunter, report,’ Hammerson ordered.

Alex blinked for a few seconds before responding. ‘Fort Bragg Medical Centre – assisting science personnel with further physiological and psychological testing.’ He looked around him and saw the wreckage and the paralysed orderlies, still too shocked to move. He exhaled and said with a hint of resignation in his voice, ‘Seems I had another dream while I was under, sir.’

Alex looked at Lieutenant Marshal. ‘Did I hurt anyone?’