‘Ben, stop now,’ Roland says, firmly holding a hand out like a policeman, and that thought makes Ben think of Safa and no sooner does that hand come out than Roland is gripped, turned and pushed down with the wristlock that Ben was made to practise over and over. Roland tries to say something but Ben doesn’t give him a chance.

‘You fucking piece of shit.’

Rage inside. Rage at everything, but this man here becomes the focus and that rage explodes out, but it’s refined now and targeted with a mind finally running clear and free.

‘You let them go back . . .’

‘I had no choice,’ Roland bleats.

‘You did. You bloody did. Harry follows orders . . . he would have done what you said . . .’

‘He wouldn’t, Ben,’ Roland gasps.

‘Ben!’ Malcolm comes into the corridor with the doctor and Konrad close behind him.

‘Harry’s a soldier,’ Ben growls. ‘He follows orders . . . why did you let them go back?’

‘I—’

‘WHY?’

‘Ben, stop that . . .’ Malcolm comes forward to grab his arm, his actions prompting Konrad and Doctor Watson to approach him too. The men usher him away from Roland, who rolls over groaning at the pain in his arm.

‘Why?’ Ben asks again as the other three men gently guide him back.

‘To save you,’ Roland gasps.

‘I was going back,’ Ben mutters.

‘We watched the footage,’ Malcolm says quickly. ‘Harry saw it. He changed his mind about you. Said he was going to try it his way . . .’

‘But . . .’

‘We were desperate,’ Malcolm blurts. ‘We didn’t want to send you back . . . Safa suggested we watch the footage so we’d remember you at Holborn and not like . . . not like here . . .’

Ben sags against the wall, groaning at the thought of it. ‘What have I done?’

Roland gets to his feet, wincing audibly as he rubs his painful wrist. ‘Safa tried everything to snap you out of it,’ he says into the charged atmosphere of the room.

‘You shouldn’t have brought us back the way you did,’ Ben replies in a voice whispered but clear. ‘A sterile bunker.’ He looks round in disgust. ‘It . . . you . . .’ He falters and stops to bring his thoughts to order. ‘No. No, this is my fault . . . how long have we been here?’ Ben asks, looking round at the others.

‘How long?’ Malcolm asks, confused at the question.

‘Weeks? Months? How long?’ Ben asks, his memories of being here hopelessly blurred together.

‘You don’t know?’ Konrad whispers in shock.

‘Six months,’ Roland says, standing straight.

‘Six months?’ Ben reels back. ‘No . . . no way . . . that’s not possible . . .’

‘Six months, Ben,’ Malcolm says, his face showing the worry he feels.

‘Oh fuck . . . fuck no . . .’ Ben sags against the wall. It can’t have been six months. It’s not possible. He’s been here six months? Everything is a blur, like time is blurred and weird in his head.

‘I’ve said the same thing,’ Doctor Watson says, casting a look at Roland.