Hurrying to keep up, Will said, ‘I saw them yesterday, at the pub in Bucklebury. One of them, today, he’s got a limp, like he hurt it falling off the fence. I think he’s the one who tried to break in.’

‘Muslims?’

Even from slightly behind the Editor, Will’s gaze would not detach from the pistol, which he saw was old-fashioned, narrow, something from the war. ‘No, no. I don’t think so. They’re both white, in suits. Maybe they’re some kind of protestor.’

The Editor ignored his speculation. ‘Ages?’

‘The younger one, with the limp, is about twenty, the older one’s in his forties, I would say. But I really don’t think they’re dangerous.’

‘What the fuck do you know about it? They’ve been tailing our staff and now they’ve broken in to the most sensitive building in England, and you want to tell me they’re not dangerous! How did you spot them?’

‘I recognized them, from yesterday.’

‘And you’re the one who found the break-in, aren’t you? Why is that?’

Will acted humble. ‘Lucky, I suppose.’

‘Big stories have a habit of finding good reporters. What is it that you—’

But then they emerged from the corridor into the newsroom and the pistol wreaked terror around them. Brython’s staff gasped and shrieked and the pistol cleared a path for him. Those nearest abandoned their desks and ran, shielding their heads. Those further away dived off their chairs and into cover behind desks and filing cabinets. The chief stopped mid-bustle and stared at them as they passed. Anna grabbed her camera. Will could see Jeremy agog, still in his chair, Max pulling him down. Rosie was already out of sight.

The Editor strode along behind the back bench, past spinning chairs and dropped phones, the last of his senior staff fleeing around him, and stopped twenty feet from the innocuous door. The TV projector sent blurred colours and lines wobbling across his shoulder and face. Geraldine rushed to his side. Someone was sobbing.

With the back of his free hand, the Editor waved his people further away. They retreated, leaving a wide unhindered corridor of air between the Editor and his target. He told Will, ‘Listen at the door for whether they’re still in there. But for Christ’s sake don’t walk into my line of fire.’

33