‘Press went crazy when they saw me. I was in the papers and on the Internet for ages . . . the Cleopatra Copper,’ she snorts humourlessly.

‘The inter what?’ Harry asks.

‘Give it a rest,’ Safa groans.

‘The Internet,’ Ben says to Harry. ‘Er . . . do you know what computers are?’

‘Are you really explaining the Internet?’ she asks.

‘Computing devices?’ Harry says.

‘They got much smaller and a lot more powerful,’ Ben explains as Safa once more rolls her eyes and huffs. ‘They pretty much ran the world . . . someone figured out how to connect them all . . . like telephones, I guess, but each computer could hold information, lots and lots of information, and every other computer could have access to all of them and the information they hold. We put satellites in space too . . .’

‘Ach,’ Harry says disbelievingly.

‘We did,’ Ben says. ‘Space shuttles that took communication devices into low orbit around the planet. That meant we had phones and computers without wires.’

‘Like radios?’

‘Yeah, kind of,’ Ben says. ‘Mobile phones that use cellular technology . . .’

‘You were asking for a mobile,’ Harry says, looking at Ben. ‘Didn’t understand it . . .’

‘Everyone has a phone now,’ Safa adds, then blinks. ‘Why am I telling you?’ She scowls, but Ben knows what she means. It’s the sense of self emanating from Harry. Like an utter belief that he is who he says he is. He isn’t panicking or trying to convince them but is just calm and resolute. Just how Harry Madden would be in such a situation.

‘So what now?’ Safa asks. ‘We going back out for round two?’

‘Door will be locked,’ Harry says, getting gingerly to his feet and walking over to the exit door, which he rattles a few times. ‘Aye, ’tis.’

‘Fair enough,’ Safa says. ‘I’d lock it after that. What I want to know,’ she adds with a look down at herself, ‘is who changed our clothes?’

‘Oh yeah,’ Ben says, looking down at his own clean clothes. ‘No bloodstains . . . and we’ve been washed too, by the looks of it.’

‘Better be a woman that’s done me,’ she says, scowling.

‘I’m sure it was,’ Ben says quickly. ‘They wouldn’t do that, would they?’

‘Depends on who they are,’ Safa says. ‘Who were those men anyway?’

‘Guards,’ Harry says as though the answer is obvious.

‘Well, yeah, but . . .’ Safa says then stops. ‘Not German guards though . . . I mean . . .’

‘They were German,’ Harry says. ‘German guards.’

‘Yes, but not World War Two German guards. Just . . . oh bollocks. I have no idea.’

‘Oh shit,’ Ben says suddenly, leaning forward on his chair. ‘That man . . .’

‘Er, which one?’ Safa asks.

‘The man in the room,’ Ben says quickly.

‘And again which one?’ Safa asks.

‘The dark-haired one . . . the English bloke. Him. I saw him!’

‘Yeah,’ Safa says slowly. ‘We all saw him, Ben.’

‘No! I saw him in London. At work. Before . . . I saw him before . . . the morning . . . in the morning before Holborn . . .’