Jeremy again deleted everything. Jack from the Art desk had arrived and was watching nervously. Once the headline had been decided upon, he would still have to adjust the lettering as well as the shapes on pages four and five to make the copy fit. All other pages had been sent.

The Editor said, ‘It’s not just an attack on the Beast. September the eleventh wasn’t just an attack on the World Trade Center; it was an attack on America, on America’s prestige, its symbols, its idea of itself. And now, why us? We aren’t just a newspaper; we’re one of the pillars of English life, an institution, like the army or the monarchy. This is—’

But he interrupted himself because Will had spoken. His words made breathless by the appalling implications of what he’d noticed, and by the ambitious excitement of having been the one to do so, he asked Max, ‘If the terrorists are from the Punjab, why were the people Jez saw outside speaking Arabic?’

That stopped them cold. Max looked at Jeremy, Jeremy looked at Max. The Editor looked from one to the other. He hadn’t realized that Jeremy was the sub in question. At his desk, the chief turned from his computer, and stood up. The clocks ticked inexorably towards 9:45.

Jeremy said the only thing he could: ‘I don’t know the difference, do I? I thought it was Arabic, but it could have been anything.’

Max said, ‘I’ll take it out. Will, check six–seven to see whether it’s in there, too. Get the pages back if you have to. Fast as you can.’

Will felt the Editor’s eye linger on him for a moment before, with the clarity of the fear that had slapped them all, the Editor said, ‘I have the headline:

MUSLIMS

DECLARE

WAR ON

BRITAIN

‘With a strap underneath: “Bomb attack imminent in central London”.’ Feldstein nodded; that was why Charles was Editor. To Jack the Editor said, ‘It’s yours. Get on with it.’ And the designer ran back to his desk.

There were less than four minutes left. The Editor strode after Jack, saying, ‘As big as possible.’ The pod, and everyone else in the newsroom, heard him continuing at the Art desk: ‘Move that strap closer to the headline; you could drive a bus through that gap. Quickly now!’

Will said to Max, ‘The second spread’s clear.’

A full two and a half minutes later, Jack shouted across, ‘Max, you’ve got the page.’