‘All I can say is that that would be in keeping with observed patterns. I wouldn’t make a conjecture about any particular situation without full reference to our sources.’

‘And who are your sources?’

The policeman gave a stagy laugh. ‘That’s not discloseable, of course.’

‘But could you give us a way of saying what kind of people they are? Undercover operatives? Informers inside the terror cell?’

The policeman was silent for a moment, then said, ‘People in the terror community.’

Jeremy was incapable of believing what he was listening to. This information, like a piece from the wrong jigsaw, would not fit into the structure of his thoughts. It butted, dull but insistent, against his forehead.

Corroborating phrases followed it – ‘indications for some time’, ‘increasingly clear signals’, until, eventually, some one of them got into his mind and flipped it upside down.

ANOTHER SOURCE!

Jeremy remembered the distinct feeling he’d had when he saw the two figures in burqas, of a monstrous shadow looming across the cinema screen. He felt it again now. By some astounding accident, he must have stumbled on to something. It must have been intuition, emotional antennae, news-sense, the snap judgement that reached what a considered opinion could not. Another source!

He thought: Fuck. Jesus. Motherfucking holy Jesus, holy fucking mother of God. It’s real. It’s REAL.

The long years of weariness left him as suddenly as if he’d twisted out from under their grasp. Adrenaline induced the hyper-wakefulness of the newsman who’s on to something. He was no longer used to it, and he reeled. There were terrorists planning to bomb Beast HQ. The terrorists were coming here. He was inside the room the terrorists planned to blow up. His eyes went to the doors. He half-expected someone to burst in right then. This was the biggest story for… This was the biggest story.

And now one of the Graphics boys – a young guy, more casual than the journalists in a short-sleeved checked shirt – fast-walked over to Geraldine with a sheet of A3 paper flapping in his hand. As soon as Geraldine saw him coming, she pointed at the desk and said, ‘Grazie, old stick, put it down there.’ The Graphics man was nervous of her, but put the sheet down on top of all her other printouts, and wiped it flat. It was a map.

Geraldine said, ‘Right, where’s Stephen?’

The Graphics man looked deeply uncomfortable. ‘Sorry, I don’t know who that is.’

‘The reporter who gave you the information for this map. Where is he?’

‘Oh.’ The Graphics man twisted around to look back the way he’d come. ‘He was just over there.’

Just then Geraldine spotted him and shouted, ‘Stephen! Over here please!’