The American prodded Qazi. ‘Let’s get this show on the road.’

The image was monochrome but it was clear that blood was all over Qazi’s chin, his eyes were bloodshot, his face was battered and swollen, and when he opened his mouth his front teeth were gone.

‘I—’ He erupted into a series of choking coughs. The American stepped forward and slapped him hard on the side of his head. He started to fall sideways out of the chair. Another man appeared and pushed him upright.

‘. . . Second Lieutenant Amhamid Qazi, committed the . . .’

‘C’mon, spit it out.’

‘. . . murder of Sergeant David Whitehead of the . . .’

He doubled over and vomited.

Tom glanced at Rolt, whose face wore an expression of triumph.

‘No court, no drawn-out inquiry, no compromise, no plea bargaining. This is how to get things done.’

Tom said nothing. Inside he was revolted. He could see Qazi had had the shit beaten out of him so the confession was worthless. Those men would never put him back on the streets. He knew he was looking at a dead man. This was no kind of justice that he subscribed to, but the intensity of Rolt’s gaze told him that what happened in the next seconds would decide his own future with Invicta. And he figured that another five thousand miles away, in Houston, Stutz was watching – most probably with Lederer sucking a popsicle. Another day, another test. Tom drew some grim satisfaction out of stringing them along.

‘This is your opportunity. You say the word. What happened in Bastion was wrong. These guys’ll see that justice is done for your friend.’

The American with the stick now had a pistol in his hand. He turned and looked down the lens. Tom turned towards Rolt. He was holding open a door. All he had to do was step through. Tom leaned forward so his command would be loud and clear.

‘Do it.’

Qazi’s head snapped back as half his skull blew away with the blast. The force sent the man and the chair slamming onto the floor. It was all over.

The shooter turned to the lens and gave a small salute. Job done. The screen went black.

Rolt reached over to Tom and shook his hand. ‘Welcome to the next level.’

‘Thank you. I’m honoured.’ Tom swallowed. ‘What does it entail, the next level?’

Rolt got to his feet and strode over to the fireplace, then stood in front of it, as if he was about to recite a prepared speech. ‘Invicta is becoming a force to be reckoned with in the country. Politicians are beating a path to my door. The public are listening. We’ve warmed up the climate of fear. Yes, we’ve had to make our own sacrifices to get there. The hostel was one of those. But gestures like that speak louder than words.’