‘Er, they’re in hospital, Mr Madden,’ Malcolm says, casting a dark, worried look at Konrad. ‘Some are, anyway,’ he adds in a much quieter tone.

They go through the doors into the big room, now empty of other people but with broken chairs and tables stacked in a pile. The smell of chemicals hangs in the air and wet patches on the ground speak of blood being scrubbed away. Ben and Safa look at each other as though seeking reassurance. Harry does not seem fazed or bothered at all but moves along, staring hungrily at the table full of the fruit.

Through the next set of doors into another corridor much the same as the last with a series of metal-riveted doors along the sides and something about it all immediately makes Harry think of staff quarters. Three of the rooms they pass are filled with personal belongings strewn about.

They go through another set of doors into another corridor but this one is shorter with an open door on the left and a locked door on the right with a red light bulb fixed over the top. One more door at the end and that has a solid metal locking bar fitted across it and weird stainless steel panels bolted to the wall either side and above, forming a crude porch.

‘Ah, Malcolm.’ They snap eyes over to see the man with the dark hair standing in the open door.

‘Roland,’ Malcolm says with a relieved nod.

‘Where are we?’ Safa asks bluntly.

‘I will explain,’ Roland says gravely, with sincerity pouring from his every word. ‘Please, do come in and sit down.’ He leads them into the room and moves round to the other side of a large, rough-hewn wooden desk. Three wooden chairs of the same rough style rest in front of the desk, which he motions to with a wave of his hand. ‘Do take a seat. Malcolm, Konrad, would you please get our guests some coffee.’

‘Yep,’ Malcolm says as they both scarper with obvious relief.

Harry goes first, taking the seat on the far right. Ben goes left, leaving the middle one for Safa.

‘Right,’ Roland says, looking over at Harry, then Ben, then finally at Safa. ‘I owe you an apology.’

‘Clearly,’ Safa snaps. ‘What the fuck . . .’

Roland blanches at her ferocity. His eyes darting to Harry and Ben. He smooths his hair back and slowly sits down. Harry stares at him, taking in the khaki shorts and short-sleeve shirt that look so much like the jungle uniform of an officer. Ben takes in the room, the rough wooden desk and chairs, and the plain fear pouring off the man. That it’s the same man he saw in the lift is without doubt, yet the man in the lift was assured and confident. This man is the polar opposite. Safa just glares. She too can see the fear, but her impetuous nature wants answers and she wants them now.