Thrown clear of the boat he gains the sensation of air then water and plunges down into the darkness. The buoyancy aid pulls him up and he gasps air but that wall is still coming and this monster hasn’t finished toying with him yet. He goes up, pulled by the suction of the wave and the life jacket keeping him on the surface. Water. Air. Water. Air. He takes both in but feels the height being gained. Near the top he snatches a fleeting glimpse of his beloved yacht that fought so bravely and in that moment he prays she will survive.

‘We’re going to land in the water, right?’

‘Yep.’ Malcolm nods, dragging one of the poles out.

‘Fuck it,’ Safa says. ‘How big is this storm anyway?’

‘Big,’ Malcolm says apologetically, as if the storm being big is his fault.

‘Right.’ She tightens the life jacket then flexes her arms in the wetsuit clinging to her frame before fingering the thick rope tied to the harness under the life jacket. ‘How much rope have we got?’ she asks, looking to the huge reel at the back of the room. ‘Right,’ she says again without waiting for an answer.

‘You go through in the boat,’ Malcolm says. ‘Land in the water with the engine running and go into the waves. Remember that.’

‘Ah,’ Harry frowns, sitting in the rear, holding the twist grip of the rudder stick. ‘When you’ve been in a few storms,’ he says.

‘Mr Madden,’ Malcolm says politely, ‘the engine on this is really powerful, like . . . so much more powerful than you’re used to . . . like, ten times more powerful . . . you twist that grip and she’ll bite . . .’

‘Less talking, more let’s get going,’ Harry says, staring ahead at the bare concrete wall, then blinking and looking at the oversized, swollen rubber skirt of the boat. ‘What’s it called again?’

‘RIB, Rigid Inflatable—’

‘Got it, RIB.’

‘Interestingly, we actually had a boat when we extracted you, Harry, but someone said to get rid of it as we wouldn’t need another boat . . .’ Malcolm says with a look at Roland, who suddenly finds his feet very interesting.

‘We’ll pull the device over you,’ Konrad says to both of them. ‘As the blue goes over you so you’ll appear in the time and location chosen . . . er . . . which is the sea . . . in a storm . . .’

‘Yes, got that bit,’ Safa says through gritted teeth from her position at the front of the RIB, staring at the same bare concrete wall.

‘RIB,’ Harry says again.

‘Yes,’ Malcolm says. ‘Land in the water, turn into the waves, find the doctor, get him aboard and get back through the blue light . . .’

‘Got it,’ Harry says, hunkering down to face the wall with a look of serious intent. ‘Water, doctor, blue light, back for tea and cake.’