Terror, the unmistakeable scent of terror, enveloped them as they went back into the newsroom. The Beast’s staff were breathing it in and out; and it hung thick as fog around them. The news had circulated that someone had found them here where they’d supposed themselves safe. They were still trying to work but went quieter when the Editor came in, hoping for a speech that would make them feel as powerful as they had last night. But the Editor went straight through to his office and his journalists shifted and muttered and looked at one another.

At the subs’ desk, Jeremy and Anna buttonholed Max before he could get back to his seat, and he could feel the others listening too. Jeremy accused, ‘Do you think it was that Muslim kid from the pub? Did he tip someone off?’

And Anna said, ‘I reckon we get the fuck out of here and back to London. I’ve booked a minibus from a rental place in Thatcham. I’m taking my desk, so there’s space for seven more. Who wants in – Jez?’

‘Maybe it’s not such a bad idea. Better than getting burnt alive out here in the middle of nowhere. What do you think, Max?’

He realized that it was him they were asking and not the chief. To test them, he said, ‘Why don’t you ask Frank what he thinks? He’s in charge.’

‘Fuck that,’ said Anna. ‘We all know he’s going to the Fun.’

He was, and there was no way Max was going anywhere. He said, ‘This isn’t like you, Anna. You’re old Fleet Street. You’ve seen worse than this.’

‘No I fucking haven’t. Old Fleet Street is punches in pubs, not being burnt alive. Have you seen what fire does to a person? Because I’ve got loads of pictures; I’ll show you.’

She spun to call some up on her computer, her sharp black bob swinging around her face, but Max grabbed her lightly by the forearm. ‘Hey, hey, listen for a second,’ he said. She arched an eyebrow at his hand and he let go. ‘First of all, these walls here are reinforced concrete. What are they going to do, flick matches at them?’

‘Do you want me to show you what it looked like at Charlie Hebdo after they went in there with machine guns?’

‘No one could get a gun in here; you’ve seen how many cops there are outside. And secondly, how’s it going to look if we’re at the centre of the biggest story in decades and we don’t even manage to get the paper out?’

That gave her pause.

‘Someone’s knocked over a fence and what are we going to do, print blank pages? Imagine what a laughing stock we’d be. The Beast gets handed the story of a generation and doesn’t even manage to write it down.’