At the end of a long, brightly lit corridor, Vidor was handed over to a uniformed security guard. When he looked back, the three men in dark suits had faded into the crowd. The guard typed a code on the panel by a locked door and escorted him through. Vidor stopped short. It wasn’t the barren room with grimy walls and tube lighting he was expecting, but some kind of high-class lounge. Two black leather sofas framed a polished glass coffee table. An enormous vase of lilies and red dahlias graced a table by the wall. Subterranean or high in the air, he couldn’t say. Frosted windows let in a watery light, though nothing of the outside world could be seen.

The guard released his arm. Afraid of what might happen next, Vidor longed to curl up on one of the sofas and shut out the world. Would he spend the rest of his days in some grotty prison, at the mercy of hooligans and thugs? Whatever happened now was out of his hands. With his grand getaway plan reduced to rubble, his only wish was to close his eyes and succumb to the oblivion of the dead. A door clicked open, and a dark shape swam into view. Gessen, naturally. Who else could have orchestrated all this?

After a quiet word with the guard, who nodded and left the room, Gessen indicated one of the sofas. ‘Why don’t you have a seat, Vidor?’ His eyes were kind. ‘I can see you’re very tired.’

Like a truculent schoolboy, Vidor allowed himself to be led to one of the sofas, where he dropped onto the cushions and closed his eyes. The other sofa creaked as Gessen settled across from him.

A knock on the door. He gazed dejectedly through narrowed lids, expecting to be hauled away in chains. But a uniformed man stepped inside, bearing a tray with two glasses, a plate of pastries, and a bottle of sparkling water. Vidor accepted the glass Gessen handed him and clutched it in both hands. So tired. If he could just close his eyes for a few minutes, all would be well.

‘Is Hélène all right?’ Vidor’s voice seemed to come from a long way off.

Skimming above the surface of the known world, his mind floated untethered amongst the tangle of synapses, where each spark was orchestrated in perfect harmony. Thinking, feeling, seeing. Taste, touch, smell. What a wonderful machine the human brain was. If only the mind were so easily mapped…

‘Vidor, can you hear me?’