‘I am Ben Ryder,’ Ben says. ‘You were the police officer on the platform at Holborn station.’ Her head snaps to face him. ‘I saw you . . . you were running and waving at the driver to stop . . . I was pulling the ginger man down the tracks.’

‘What was his name then?’

‘Who?’

‘The ginger man.’

‘I don’t know! How would I know?’

‘Exactly, you can’t know because Ben Ryder blew up with the train.’

‘No, no I didn’t. Two men pushed me into a side room and . . .’

‘And what?’ she demands.

‘And . . . I don’t know . . . I can’t remember . . . I blacked out then woke up here.’

‘Yeah, okay then, you been asleep for what . . . five years?’

‘Five years? It was a few hours ago. What’re you on about?’

She shakes her head at him in disgust. ‘Stop it.’

‘Find the works manager . . . or the men on tea break I saw . . . or my office! They’ll tell you I was sent there for the worker that got electrocuted in Aldwych . . . I didn’t know those people . . .’

‘Mind games,’ Harry says, tutting. ‘Dirty.’

‘I’ll tell you what mind games are,’ Safa says. ‘Mind games are being suspected of being a terrorist just because you’ve got darker skin, which is racism. I was doing my job. I hope to hell you’ve got every copper from the house in here because if you’ve singled me out on the basis of my ethnicity I will go bloody Mad Harry on . . .’ She stops, realising what she’s said, and glares through narrowed eyes at Harry, who just blinks and tilts his head.

‘I got him down to the bunker,’ she continues. ‘I got him down there . . . if I was part of it, why didn’t I kill him or hand him over? I didn’t even go in with him . . .’

‘With who? Where?’ Ben asks. ‘What are you talking about? Holborn?’

‘He said he’d do this,’ she mutters darkly. ‘He said it,’ she says louder into the air as though someone else is listening. ‘He said he’d put extremist material in my father’s office if I didn’t . . .’ She stops again, breathing hard through her mouth. ‘I am not a terrorist,’ she shouts.

‘Neither am I,’ Ben shouts at whoever is listening.