He cleared his throat. ‘Right, Team Two-Three-Six. We’ve got one. Briefing Room 3 in ten minutes.’

Despite six weeks of basic training, and seemingly still un-aware that the correct response to any order given by a senior officer was, ‘Yes, sir,’ Parrish demanded to know what they had got. ‘Where are we going? How long will we be gone?’

‘Full briefing in ten minutes. Get your gear and be there, Parrish.’

‘I only ask because I have quite an important appointment this evening and . . .’

‘Be there, Parrish, or be on the end of my boot. Your choice.’

Ten minutes later in Briefing Room 3, Major Ellis called them to order. ‘Right. Pay attention. Something harmless for your first assignment. This . . . is Henry Plimpton.’

Activating the screen, he brought up a blurred picture of a plump, balding man in his early- to mid-fifties, peering amiably from behind thick spectacles.

‘He doesn’t look like a criminal mastermind,’ said Parrish, doubtfully.

Farrell stared fixedly at the wallscreen, giving it his full attention and saying nothing.

Lockland was busy scribbling in her notebook, a deep frown furrowing her brows.

‘I mean,’ continued Parrish, oblivious to Ellis’s impatience, ‘you expect a giant bald head, don’t you? And scars. And a signet ring with skull and crossbones. And an evil leer. And possibly a white cat. I’m not sure this one’s read the Handbook for Megalomaniacs. What’s he done?’

‘Well, if I can get a word in edgeways, I’ll tell you,’ said Ellis, and let the silence hang for a few seconds.

When he was sure he had their attention and that Lockland had stopped writing and looked up, he said, ‘Lottery ticket.’

Parrish raised his hand. ‘What’s a . . . ?’

‘Similar to a giant raffle.’

Parrish raised his hand again.

‘Shut up, Parrish.’

Parrish lowered his hand.

‘It was a stealth tax in the late 20th and early 21st centuries,’ said Ellis. ‘You bought a ticket – as many tickets as you liked, actually – and there was a weekly draw. A small part was set aside as prizes and most of the rest went to the government.’

Up went Parrish’s hand again. ‘So what was the first prize?’

‘Several million pounds.’

Even Parrish was rocked. ‘Wow. Why don’t we do that now?’

‘Well, money wasn’t worth as much then as it is now, plus the odds of winning were astronomical. You had more chance of being eaten by a dinosaur than of winning the big prize. And eventually people realised that a smaller and smaller proportion of the ticket money was being allocated to something that would benefit them and the whole thing fizzled out.’

‘But people still did it?’

‘It was a time of great economic hardship. Millions of people bought tickets in the hope of changing their lives.’

Parrish raised his hand. ‘But . . .’

‘Shut up, Parrish.’

‘I thought we were supposed to ask questions.’