‘Or perhaps she’s a thrill-seeker,’ said Greenbrooke. ‘Perhaps she sabotaged the EV that crashed in those vaults so that she would have the opportunity to make a daring rescue.’

I stood. ‘That’s it,’ I said, raising both hands, palms forward as if to fend off any more questions. The agent guarding the cell door responded by immediately unholstering his pistol. For the moment, however, he kept it by his side. ‘I’m not listening to any more of this.’

‘Sit down, Mr Beche,’ said Greenbrooke, looking up at me.

I stood where I was without moving, and Greenbrooke made a gesture without turning. The agent wielding the gun brought his weapon up and gestured with it for me to sit back down. My legs folded under me of their own accord, and I sat.

‘There have been other, equally serious breaches in recent months, Mr Beche. You’re new, so you likely won’t be aware of most of those, but the fact remains you’ve been here barely a few weeks and your presence is already proving disruptive. You are aware, are you not, that we can put you right back where you came from just as easily as we found you?’

I reeled back, shocked by the threat. ‘I just don’t see what any of this has to do with—’ I began to stammer.

I heard a sudden commotion from the direction of the cell block entrance. The second agent reholstered his gun, then stepped out into the corridor and walked out of sight. I could hear voices coming closer, sounding loud and angry as they echoed from the whitewashed walls.

Greenbrooke stood from his stool just as two more men pushed past the other Patriot agent, who had tried ineffectually to stand in the way of the two newcomers. One of these was dressed in a pale grey suit and burgundy tie, and had the look and build of a retired boxer. He had broad, muscled shoulders and a stiff head of bristly grey hair that stood almost straight up from his scalp. The man accompanying him was smaller and slighter, with thin, pursed lips and almost translucent skin.

‘. . . don’t have the right to hold either of them, goddammit!’ the one with the bristly grey hair was shouting. ‘Get him the hell out of there,’ he said, pointing towards me. ‘He should never have been in here in the first damn place!’

‘Commander Bramnik,’ said Greenbrooke, ‘we have the authority to carry out an investigation that—’

‘I said now, Agent Greenbrooke,’ Bramnik bellowed. ‘I’m tired of you trying to override my command!’

This, I realized, must be Mort Bramnik – the man in charge of operations on the island. Two soldiers had also appeared outside the cell door, and as a result it was starting to get more than a little crowded.