The reporters rushed past him, not sorry to be putting distance between themselves and the target. They jumped into their cars or ran for the tube while calling their contacts. And in Baroness Ahmad’s chambers, in the government’s counter-terror unit, in the office of a man at Scotland Yard who could be trusted to act discreetly, the phones started to ring.

*

Upstairs in the newsroom, Geraldine sent off the last two reporters: ‘Alright then, chaps, Godspeed, I wish I was going out there myself, don’t get blown up before you land the story.’ She then said ‘Righty-ho’ to herself, clapped her hands together with a clash of jewellery and strode off to the Editor’s office before Jeremy could catch her attention.

Ben, with all the manifest reluctance of someone given a tedious task, half-sat, half-leant against the edge of the desk beside him. He crossed one leg over the other and held his notebook flipped open on his thigh. Scratching the inside of his ear, he asked, ‘So, what are your caveats then?’

Jeremy wondered what they’d done to corrupt this child, or whether that’s just what graduates were like now. He said, ‘We can’t be sure that the people in burqas were those guys.’

‘Those terrorists.’

‘Yeah. I only saw them for half a minute, maybe less. Maybe they were men, but isn’t it more likely that they were just what they looked like, you know, women?’

The child emitted an almost imperceptible sigh. ‘So you’re saying your caveat is that you don’t know anything for sure.’

Jeremy shrugged, opening his palms as if to say: well, there you have it.

‘OK, got it. That’s great,’ he said with transparent insincerity. ‘Thanks very much. I’ll let Geraldine know when she’s got a minute.’ With a practised flick of the fingers, the cherub flipped his notebook shut.

9

As soon as the chief, periodically glancing over his shoulder at Newsdesk, saw that Jeremy was no longer in use, he bustled over to collar him before Geraldine came back. He and Geraldine loathed each other, each considering the other insubordinate, and didn’t speak. He addressed her deputy, ‘Alright, Colin.’

Colin stood up. ‘Alright, Frank.’

‘Have you finished putting the thumbscrews on Jez here? We’d like to mistreat him ourselves if he’s free.’

‘No problem,’ said Colin. ‘But we might need to borrow him again later if that’s OK?’

‘We don’t have enough subs today who’ve reached even Jez’s level of near-competence, so we won’t be able to spare him for the full water torture. But I’m sure he’ll be happy to give you whatever help he has time for, won’t you, Princess Jezmin?’

‘Delighted,’ muttered Jez, getting to his feet.