She sighed. ‘If we don’t get a grip – if I don’t get a grip – if I can’t turn them around and get them facing the threats of today rather than those of yesterday . . .’

‘But you are making progress, ma’am.’

‘Not quickly enough. We’re an organisation of two halves, Charlie.’

‘Yes, ma’am. The old and the new.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with the old, Charlie. Just as long as they’ll let me lead them into the realms of the new. Sadly, there are those who just won’t be led.’

‘Albayans, ma’am.’

‘After the late and very unlamented Colonel Albay, yes. Getting rid of him is about the only useful thing St Mary’s has ever done.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

She sighed. ‘Well, if these . . . Albayans won’t come around, then they’ll have to be induced to leave. Somehow.’

‘Or you could just shoot them, ma’am.’

She brightened. ‘Very true. Before they shoot me.’ She paused. ‘You’re supposed to say, “It will never come to that.” Seriously, Charlie, I sometimes wonder if you’ve quite grasped the full extent of your role as my adjutant.’

‘I beg your pardon, ma’am. I was giving you a moment before diverting you with the next piece of bad news.’

‘Thoughtful of you.’

‘Simply part of my role as your adjutant, ma’am.’

‘Go on then. Divert me.’

‘Sadly, it’s only a very small piece of bad news.’

‘Well, never mind. I’m sure we’ll manage to turn it into a crisis by the end of the day.’

Captain Farenden sighed. ‘Our trainees.’

‘What about them?’

‘It’s their last day of basic training today. Graduation ceremony on Friday.’ He looked pointedly at her scratchpad. ‘It’s in your diary, ma’am.’

‘Can’t you shunt it on to Major Callen?’

‘Er . . .’

‘He shunted it on to me, didn’t he?’

‘Er . . .’

‘Recruitment and Training is part of his remit. Why isn’t he addressing the proud parents and relatives?’

‘Recruitment drive, ma’am.’

‘In Outer Mongolia, no doubt. Some place so remote and with such primitive travel links that he can’t possibly get back here in time.’

‘Glasgow, ma’am.’

‘Oh, yes – that would do it. So, what’s the bad news you think you’ve successfully distracted me from?’

‘The trainees, ma’am.’

‘Yes?’

‘We’ve lost one.’

‘Dead or mislaid?’

‘Dropped out.’

Commander Hay picked up her paper knife. Never a good sign.

‘Well,’ said Captain Farenden mildly, ‘we do tell them they can leave at any point before they formally complete their training.’

‘That doesn’t mean they should. Or that I have to be happy about it.’ She had a sudden thought. ‘Which one? Please tell me it was Parrish.’

‘Larsson, ma’am.’

‘Bugger. He was . . .’ She pulled herself up.

‘The normal one?’

‘They’re none of them normal, but he was . . .’

‘The closest, ma’am.’

‘Exactly. And the point you’re dancing around is . . . ?’