“What are you going to do, force me to do maths with a gun to my head?” Kay said, stomping forwards. Julian tried to get in her way, but she wasn’t having any of it, and then the pistol jabbed in her direction.

“What?” she demanded. “You’ll shoot me, now? Who’ll do your precious thinking then?”

Rove snarled, a man who’d backed himself into an ideological corner. Suddenly, Mal bucked underneath him. Rove was slightly bigger and heavier; Mal was strong from four years spent hunting and gathering in a harsh world. She slung him off, sending him sliding across the floor. As Lee reached to grab Mal, Rove swung the pistol and pulled the trigger three times, his face purple with outrage.

The thunder of the gun was deafening in the enclosed chamber. Lee gathered Mal to her, looking for the blood that must surely be there, searching for the telltale holes in her clothes. There was nothing. Mal was shaking with shock, not from a hit.

Stig was kneeling before Rove, head down and arms wrapped around himself. She wasn’t sure if the big man had been going for Rove already, or if he’d deliberately put himself in the way. He wasn’t dead, but he hadn’t been wearing body armour either.

Rove aimed the pistol at Lee and Mal over Stig’s lowered head.

“I. Will. Shoot,” Rove spat out. His eyes were bulging, lips drawn back from his neat white teeth. “I will shoot every last one of you. You will not do this to me.”

“Put the gun down, Mr. Rove.” Julian levelled Lucas’s gun at Rove, who switched aim to return the favour.

“Mr. Sabreur,” he said, forcing courtesy through his teeth. “You, of all people, should be on my side. We can force them to keep England sacred. We’ve all seen you come over to me, in one of those alternates. You’re like me, inside.” When Julian remained composed, he added with a nasty smile, “I know you’re not going to pull the trigger. You’re a desk-and-papers man, Sabreur.”

“I would bring you back to face justice,” Julian said, “but there aren’t laws to cover what you’ve done…and your friends in high places would make sure you were just fine.” His hands were shaking. Lee had assumed he was a steely-eyed James Bond type, but he’d almost certainly never held a gun in his life. He’d certainly never used one on another human being.

Rove’s smile ratcheted up a notch. “Put it down, Mr. Sabreur. Or I will shoot you. That would be a waste, wouldn’t it? Or perhaps I’ll shoot Dr. Khan, who seems to be the architect of this intolerable situation.”