‘Right,’ Ben says, nodding slowly. ‘Fair one then . . . anyway, I’ve told him to find someone from military intelligence or that kind of background . . . someone who knows how to run something this size. Roland can’t be left to do it.’

He stops to let them take it in and say something in reply. Harry heads for the closest armchair and sinks into it with a heavy sigh and a satisfied nod. Safa follows suit, taking the middle one, which she slumps into, grooving her backside into the soft seat.

‘Very nice,’ she says.

‘It’s like you said,’ Ben says slowly, watching them get comfortable. ‘You said I have to disconnect and that’s it, I couldn’t disconnect and it took a beating from Mad Harry Madden and you two being killed to make that happen.’

‘We can’t beat people as they get here,’ Harry says thoughtfully.

‘And I’m not drowning every bloody time we rescue someone either,’ Safa adds.

Ben tuts and keeps going. ‘Look at the bunker. Everything is bare concrete and sterile. It’s like a prison or something . . . but here at least . . .’ He looks round the room. ‘Here there are things we can relate to. Does that make sense? Like windows and leather chairs and coffee tables . . .’

‘We changed our rooms but you didn’t want to,’ Safa says.

‘I was having a mental breakdown. I didn’t know what I wanted. Listen, it might have happened regardless of what anyone did but . . . it might not had it been dealt with properly.’

‘No, I agree,’ Safa says.

‘Aye, good work,’ Harry mumbles, stretching his legs out and looking round.

‘So has Roland got someone in mind then?’ Safa asks.

‘No idea. I haven’t seen him for a couple of days. Malc and Kon said he’s here less and less . . . almost like he thinks you two are back and I’m now fine so he doesn’t have to worry . . . or he’s so worried he’s off doing something else. I don’t like him. I don’t trust him either. The sooner we run it the safer it will be . . . but, and no offence when I say this, but we can’t oversee the whole thing. It’s too big. The bloody portal they use to get the things for this place is in the same fixed place in Berlin in twenty sixty-one. They’ve got no concept of security or surveillance. Christ, his son invented time travel then failed to secure it properly.’

‘Ben?’ Malcolm calls out from the corridor.

‘In here, mate,’ Ben says, turning to watch Malcolm walk into the room holding a tray with three big, steaming mugs of coffee.

‘Harry, Safa,’ he says, nodding at both in turn, ‘good to see you back up . . . like the rooms then?’

‘Very nice,’ Harry says, taking a mug from the tray. ‘How are you?’