‘You’re talking about the separatists, right?’ Saul guessed.

Hanover laughed again, louder. ‘No.’ He swallowed, and for a moment Saul thought the man was about to start crying. He watched the barrel of the Agnessa wobble just centimetres away from his face.

‘No,’ Hanover repeated, regaining some of his composure. ‘Now listen to me carefully. Local government forces are storming tund. They’re going to take us into custody. Your job is to go back home with your tail between your legs, and deliver my message. Is that clear?’

He’s crazy, thought Saul, realizing in that moment that he might very well be about to die. He watched with numb fascination as Hanover took a firmer, two-handed grip on his weapon.

‘Sir?’

Hanover twisted around sharply to see Helena Bryant standing at the far end of the corridor, her face smudged and dirty, one hand clutching a wound in her shoulder. From the expression on her face, Saul guessed she’d been standing there long enough to hear most of what Hanover had said.

Hanover brought his pistol around and fired; the bullet caught her in the jaw, ripping bone and flesh away and exiting through the back of her skull. Helena staggered back against the side of the corridor, her body jerking once before slumping lifeless to the floor, like a discarded rag doll.

Hanover quickly brought the Agnessa round to bear on Saul again, motioning him to move back towards the stairwell. Saul complied, crouching to keep his face beneath the billowing smoke and almost stumbling over Helena’s corpse.

‘What’s going to happen to the rest of your people?’ asked Saul, as they entered the stairwell.

‘They’ll die honourably,’ said Hanover. ‘And if you don’t keep moving, you’ll be joining them.’

Saul looked through the window across the stairwell, and spotted yet more flares tumbling down, staining the buildings and surrounding jungle orange. He heard voices calling to each other in Mandarin, then realized the gunfire had ceased.

‘Go on,’ said Hanover, waggling his pistol towards the stairs. ‘Head on down.’

Saul didn’t move.

‘Didn’t you hear me? Get the hell down there,’ Hanover snapped. ‘And when – if – you get back home, take my advice: pack a bag, head for Florida, pick a colony and go there. Any damn one.’

‘I can’t leave until I get some real answers,’ Saul replied.

‘Don’t try me, son,’ Hanover grated. ‘I’ll shoot you, too, if I have to.’

‘But then who’ll deliver your message for you?’ Saul asked, noting there was now barely a metre separating him from the other man. ‘And what exactly is it that you think is going to happen?’

‘I said don’t try my—’