‘There are thousands of people out there that would be better than me at this,’ Ben says, shaking his head. ‘Really, you’ve got the wrong bloke.’

‘Same,’ Safa says. ‘You need soldiers, not coppers. Use Special Forces . . . there must be hundreds of them that would jump at the chance . . .’

‘We need people we can extract without causing any damage to the timelines. One,’ he says, holding a finger up, ‘Special Forces soldiers are generally accounted for even at the point of death. Two, Special Forces soldiers would be even harder to extract than you. Three, current serving and most past serving Special Forces soldiers are not routinely known by software programs that we can access and know about. Four, the closest match to any Special Forces-trained soldier that we could find was Mr Madden and he is here with us.’

‘What’s Special Forces?’ Harry asks.

‘It’s what you are,’ Safa says, ‘or rather what you became known as later. SWAT then, or FBI agents . . . CIA?’

‘Same as Special Forces,’ Roland says, ‘you’d think there would be thousands, right? Wrong. There aren’t. No, there are thousands, tens of thousands, but when you drill down to being honourable, honest, reliable, trustworthy, being able to kill, keep calm, resilient, trained, disciplined and then dying at a point where they can be extracted, the numbers drop down and down until we’re left with a bare few . . . which is you three.’

‘Point,’ Ben says, holding his hand up. ‘I am not trained. I said that. I am not trained. I am an insurance investigator . . .’

‘The program matched you, Mr Ryder,’ Roland replies almost apologetically. ‘You had a one hundred per cent success rate, I believe.’

‘Everyone knows that,’ Safa says quietly, glancing at Ben, who blinks at her, then back to Roland.

‘In insurance. I investigated insurance claims. I’m not a fucking detective.’

Roland nods at him, smiling sadly.

‘What about our bodies?’ Ben asks suddenly.

‘Mr Madden’s body was never recovered, which we all know,’ Roland says softly.

‘I didn’t know,’ Harry mutters.

‘Miss Patel’s DNA was found under the rubble but the ensuing explosions were so devastating it was recorded that she had been obliterated. In your case, Mr Ryder, again the explosion resulting from the front of the train striking the bomb vest was so contained within the tunnel that later collapsed that the heat within that confine destroyed all living tissue. Your DNA was never recovered, but then neither was the man you were dragging or the driver of the train. That was another factor in our selection methodology. There were others selected and, forgive me, but some were better, but their bodies, or parts of their bodies, were later recovered. To take them would be an impact on the timeline of humanity.’