And not just a man. A positive giant of a man.

‘Sorry, buddy.’

Pavement possession being nine-tenths of the law. Especially now that distancing was not just politeness, but outright expected. The last tenth being the other guy’s frankly disquieting build. And so Mark stepped aside. Or tried to. The big man took a step forward, jabbing a fist into Mark’s gut. Driving the air from his lungs hard enough that he was momentarily stranded. And helpless to resist as he was shoved across two feet of pavement. Manhandled into the abruptly opened door of an anonymous silver SUV.

Inside which he found himself restrained between the back seat’s other occupant and the big man. His hands plasticuffed behind him. Just before they put the hood over his head he looked around helplessly. Surrounded by blacked-out glass so dark as to be virtually opaque. The street more or less empty. Most people still avoiding the city unless their jobs absolutely depended on it. The hood came down. Blocking out even that minimal view of the world from which he’d just been plucked.

The car pulled away, moving smartly through the thin traffic. Mark tried to keep track of the turns it made. But a hard smack on the side of the head distracted him for long enough to make that a worthless endeavour. As intended, he guessed.

‘Who are you people?’

Silence met the question.

‘I work for the Clarion. You can’t just kidnap a journalist! The police—’

Another slap, harder than before, silenced him. A brutal voice speaking quietly in his ear. Quietly, but with a significant edge of menace. A threat that didn’t sound affected to Mark.

‘We know who you are and what you do. So shut the fuck right up. Now. Or I’ll staple your fucking lips together.’

A threat which Mark would have viewed as dire enough in and of itself to have obeyed immediately. Which made the cold caress of his top lip by what felt very much like a heavy industrial stapler superfluous. But extremely convincing. Mark shut the fuck right up. Sitting in perfect silence while his captors took him who knew where.

It wasn’t until the door on his left side opened that he realised they’d reached their destination. The big man hurried him through a door, which clanged shut behind him. Then pulled his hood off. Leaving Mark blinking in the artificial light of some sort of vestibule. His captors guided him through another door into a larger space, the ceiling arched along its length. An arch, forty yards deep. Lined with camp beds, each with a rolled-up sleeping bag. Looking like a barracks. Turning right, through another doorway, they entered another arch. Seemingly converted into a succession of storerooms. Their contents concealed behind frosted glass.