‘BBC Online came in and offered fifteen grand for the exclusive on the video. Those licence-fee-funded English pricks have more money than sense!’ Ellie paused before adding, ‘No offence.’

‘None taken.’

‘The even better news is people are loving the helmet shot. Seven newspapers have picked it up in the last hour, plus a dozen TV stations and some online outlets. Each syndication only earns three to six hundred dollars, depending on image resolution and exact usage. But those numbers add up fast.’

‘Cool,’ Harry said. ‘But I’m in the middle of something …’

‘Have you got anything else for me?’ Ellie asked.

‘Not right now,’ Harry said warily. ‘Cheers for telling us, but I really have to go.’

Harry had yet to look at the shots of Charlie’s arrest, but he’d already decided to ditch them. He didn’t want anything publicly linking him to Charlie and the explosives. He planned to upload all the other pictures on the memory card, then smash it into fifty pieces.

‘I’ll stay in touch,’ Ellie said warmly. ‘And check your email when you get a chance. Sue-Ann should have sent through a contributor form.’

Harry’s hand was trembling and he almost dropped his phone as he pushed it down his shorts. Someone locked a bolt three stalls down, ripping an epic fart as Harry used the protractor, scooping, dropping and flushing until all that remained was a bundle of torn plastic with slimy residue and dead bugs in the bottom.

Plastic would never flush, so Harry balled it with the explosive-smeared protractor and compass inside, reeled off a massive wodge of toilet paper then wound it around until it was a white clump, roughly the size of a volleyball. Harry waited for the guy taking a dump to wash his hands and exit, then put his backpack on.

Why didn’t I stay home? Is this the dumbest decision of my life? It’s definitely the weirdest day of my life …

After a cautious glance, Harry stepped from the cubicle and swiped his hand under an automatic faucet. He made the ball of tissue wet so that it stuck around the plastic and hopefully hid the strong smell. Then Harry pushed the soggy blob through the flap of a wall-mounted trash can. Finally, he disguised it further by dumping heaps more paper towels on top.

A kid of about seven started peeing at the urinal as Harry blasted his hands with four squirts of soap. The bright pink gel stung the cuts on his palms, but he ignored the pain, scrubbing hard and trying to free anything incriminating from under his nails.

It was a relief to get back into the sun, without the fear of exploding. He spent a few seconds thinking about Ellie’s call. Eight hundred up front, seven-and-a-half-grand share from the video, more from the helmet photo.

If Ellie pays. He seems decent, but don’t count chickens till the payment clears.