‘This way, guys,’ he said. ‘I’ve got some entertainment lined up for you in the basement.’

Webb lifted his chin and frowned heavily. ‘This is hardly the time for a celebratory piss-up.’

‘Trust me, you’ll want to see this.’

Bowman looked up at him. ‘What is it?’ he asked. ‘Booze? Women?’

The grin stretched across Gregory’s face. ‘It’s something better than that.’

‘Like what?’ Casey said.

‘It’s a surprise,’ Gregory replied. ‘But I can guarantee you’ll enjoy it.’

Bowman sighed wearily. They had just lost a close friend, they were physically spent, tired beyond belief, and now Gregory was suggesting they hit the basement for a party. He couldn’t think of anything worse. Or less appropriate.

‘Come on, guys,’ Gregory insisted. ‘This won’t take long, I promise.’

Bowman and Casey looked at each other. Gregory stood there, his eyes glowing with excitement. Then Webb shrugged indifferently. ‘May as well go and have a look,’ he said. ‘Nothing else to do until we get the clearance from Six, anyway.’

‘All right,’ Bowman said, climbing stiffly to his feet. ‘Let’s see it.’

‘Great.’ Gregory clasped his hands together. ‘You won’t regret it, guys. You’re in for a treat.’

Webb gave Casey a hand, helping her stand up, and then they followed Gregory towards the front door. Bowman looked round but Mallet was nowhere to be seen.

‘Where’s John?’ he asked nobody in particular.

‘Guest house,’ Gregory replied. ‘He’s in the conference room with Thriepland. They’re having a joint briefing with Six. He can join us later on.’

He led them through the entrance, past the river of splintered wood and broken glass in the atrium. As they trudged down the stairs to the basement, Bowman wondered why Gregory was so excited. He obviously had something big to show them. Entertainment, he had said. I guarantee you’ll enjoy it. But not beer or women. Some sort of orgy, perhaps, Bowman reflected. He’d heard of dictators hosting private sex parties. Maybe Seguma kept a secret harem in the basement.

Gregory paced down the corridor until he reached the door on the left, several metres short of the wine cellar. The rusted hinges grated in protest as he ushered the team into a dimly lit corridor with bare concrete walls and several steel doors on either side. Bowman counted twelve of them in total. The doors were closed, with arrow-slit viewing panels and food hatches set above the locks. Like cells in a police station, thought Bowman. Or a prison wing.

‘Where are you taking us?’ he asked.

‘You’ll see,’ Gregory said.

He stopped in front of one of the cell-like doors and fished out a set of keys from his pocket. A queasy feeling moved through Bowman as he watched Gregory twist open the heavy-duty lock. Something was wrong here, thought Bowman. Very wrong.

Bolts clanged. The door groaned open.

‘In here, guys,’ Gregory said.