‘Thank you,’ Bravo says politely in fluent German. ‘Sign here.’ He holds a black-clad finger over a dotted line while offering a stylus to Hans. Hans snatches it then apologises for snatching it and signs the section indicated. ‘And here,’ Bravo says, still politely, now pointing at a different section. ‘And finally here . . . thank you . . . and my stylus?’

‘Sorry . . .’ Hans passes it back. His knees hurt from the stress position. His hands shake.

‘Done?’ Alpha asks, staring at Bravo, who checks through the form he just downloaded, changed, doctored and made to appear legal.

‘Er . . . yes, yes, all done,’ Bravo says, lifting his covered head to nod at Alpha.

The shot is quiet. The round travelling from the barrel through the silencer and into the forehead of Herr Markel.

Alpha twists the silencer from the pistol, staring down at the corpse while the others do a forensic sweep to ensure nothing of theirs is left behind. ‘There was a camera on the door,’ he remarks casually.

‘I wiped the system on the way in,’ Echo says. ‘Uploaded a corruption file.’

‘We done?’ Alpha asks, tucking the silencer into a pocket. The rest nod.

The two private ambulances stop outside. Five men dressed in the green jumpsuits of paramedics disembark, chatting noisily as they stretch from the long journey.

Alpha walks round with a tablet and thumbs the screen as he checks inside the back of both vehicles. The men joke with him. He smiles and chats for a few seconds before heading inside the reception.

‘Hi.’ Alpha beams at Clara.

‘How can I help you?’ Clara asks, without a flicker of reaction.

‘We’re here for them,’ Alpha says, as though they should be prepared and waiting.

‘Who?’ Clara asks.

Alpha frowns and smiles as though somewhat confused. He checks his tablet screen. ‘Didn’t Herr Markel update you?’

‘Er . . .’ Clara hesitates, showing some mild confusion.

‘Damn it,’ Alpha tuts. ‘This always happens. Mind you, he’s got a lot on . . . you know . . . with the families of the deceased. Anyway, yes, we’re here to transport the remaining six patients to another facility.’

‘I am sorry, sir. I have not been informed of this. We cannot release the patients without—’

‘Got it right here,’ Alpha says, smiling at the pretty receptionist as he hands her the tablet. She takes it in her perfectly manicured hands and scrolls down the authority form.

‘I shall require a copy.’

‘Of course,’ Alpha says with the air of someone who has done this hundreds of times and is used to the bureaucracy.

Clara connects the device to her system. A copy of the form is shared directly into their database. A second later the printer spews a hard copy out under the desk. She reaches down, smiling at Alpha, who smiles back. He is really quite attractive. ‘What company are you from?’ she asks casually.