‘It’s real,’ she says, turning to grin at him and again grabbing his hand. ‘It’s fucking real, Ben . . .’ A rush of emotions inside her. Time travel is real. Harry Madden is real and she’s holding Ben Ryder’s hand. Time travel is real. No one will ever touch her like that again. She’s away from there. Away from that time and with two people who know what honour and decency is.

The thing she was pointing at is unmistakable. Even in the half-built state it’s in now. The Eiffel Tower is one of the most recognisable structures on the planet and there it is. The four huge legs sweeping inwards and up to the already-built first platform, and even from this distance and seeing it across rooftops, they can make out the latticed framework.

‘Paris, France. April eighteen eighty-eight,’ Roland says from behind them.

‘Can I open the window?’ Safa asks eagerly.

‘Yes, but please do not draw attention to yourselves. Miss Patel, you are somewhat distinctive in appearance. Might I suggest you do nothing to draw attention?’

‘Sure,’ Safa says, lifting the latch to push the window open. The air comes in. Real air. Real air full of soot and smoke that is almost choking in how dirty it is after the purity of the bunker, but it’s wonderful all the same. Harry stares down to check no one is looking up then leans quickly out, takes a deep breath and comes back in.

‘Konrad rented this room this morning local time and a week ago in our time reference but even so . . . I’m afraid we have to leave,’ Roland says. ‘We cannot risk being seen here and I always fear the blue light will be reflected or seen by someone.’

They back away like gentle sheep herded by a shepherd and go through the blue light back into the now dingy concrete bunker room to air that seems so thick, clean and rich. Roland comes through behind them and nods to Malcolm, who swipes his thumb across a big red square on the tablet, shutting the blue doorway off in the blink of an eye.

They stand in stunned silence. All three staggered at what they just witnessed. Malcolm and Konrad smile at each other. It was the same for them when they first saw it. Roland pauses, giving them a minute to absorb it.

Finally, he clears his throat. ‘Was that, er . . . well, will it suffice?’

‘Fuck no,’ Safa scoffs with a huge smile that she fights to control. ‘I mean, no,’ she says more seriously. ‘Totally not convinced . . . not convinced at all.’

‘Pardon?’ Roland asks in genuine shock.

‘What else you got?’ she asks.

‘Got?’ Roland asks.

‘Yeah . . . what else? Where else? Not convinced . . . need more. Harry? Are you convinced?’

‘No,’ he says deeply, seriously, but with a glint in his eyes.

Roland tuts, rolling his eyes and huffing. ‘It’s not a toy.’