He stood up and walked over to retrieve the big torch. When he shone it on the woman, he saw an elderly lady with ebony skin and a mass of frizzy gray hair flaring out from under a dark wool hat. Her quilted coat was similar to the man’s, as were her trousers and boots.

He swung the torch beam back to the man. He’d left him his sweater, but his bare legs were turning blue, and frost was forming on them. “Ah, bollocks.”

Callum turned in a slow circle, scanning the beam about. If the reception party was on some kind of watch to help the people Connexion dropped into the water, then they’d be ready with dry clothes. Sure enough, three of the yellow plastic drums were standing ten meters from the shore. He went over to them and rummaged through the blankets and coats he found inside. There was also a flask of tea, which tasted bitter—as if he cared.

One of the pouches on the stolen uniform contained zip-lock strips. Callum spent a couple of minutes binding the man and woman together and wrapping blankets around the man’s bare legs so he didn’t get frostbite or hypothermia.

Then he pulled up the coat’s hood and settled down to wait.

The woman recovered consciousness first. She groaned a lot, and winced, and tried to move.

“Crap,” she grunted when she found how securely she was fastened to her companion.

“Hello,” Callum said.

She scowled at him. “You shot me, you piece of shit!”

“Just before you two started to cut chunks off me. Yeah, I’m mean that way. And the name’s Callum.”

“Start running, Connexion fascist. If you thought Donbul was pissed at you before, wait until he wakes up. The hunt will be fun.”

“I’m not Connexion…Well, I do work for them, but not in security.”

“Liar.”

He shrugged and sipped some more of the odd tea. Sure enough, the woman managed to stay silent for about a minute.

“What are you doing?” she asked, genuinely bewildered.

“Waiting for my friends. Connexion is going to go apeshit that they helped me, so they should be shipping them out here in a day or so. By the way, where is here? I thought Iceland at first, but I’m not so sure now. Antarctic?”

“Like you don’t know.”

“ ’Fraid not.”

She sniffed in contempt and turned her head away. When she looked back, he saw real anger in her expression. “We’ll kill you!”

He grinned, specifically to annoy her. “No, you won’t.”

“What friends?”

“Who am I talking to?”

“I’m not telling you my name.”

“But if you’re going to torture me to death anyway, what difference will it make?”

She stared at him for a moment. “Foluwakemi.”

“Where are you from, Foluwakemi? Nigeria, probably, right?”

“And you know this how, spy? I’m in your files, aren’t I?”

“Ah, a promotion: dumb guard to spy in five fast minutes. How flattering. No, I’m not a spy. My mInet suggested Nigeria.” He held up his arm so she could see the jet-black smartCuff.