He jerked away like the table was suddenly covered in snakes and stumbled two steps backwards. There were two chairs, both pushed in tight against the other side of the table. He couldn’t bend, his knees wouldn’t let him, instead he walked round and pulled the first chair out. The box was there: wooden, ornate with a tree trunk carved into the left side and twisting branches jutting out along the top. It was hinged on the side like a book. He opened it with shaky fingers to reveal a Browning 9mm pistol embedded in shaped padding. It was a weapon he knew well. It had been standard issue for the British army as a secondary weapon – standard issue for him. It had been a few years since he had seen one. He reached down for it. The weight, the feel, the distinctive smell of the oil – it was like he had never put it down. The pistol had been concealing another blue piece of paper. Another typed note, the font the same but larger:

THE ONLY JUSTICE LEFT.

His head lifted to face the door. Adrenalin fuelled him now. He strode back round the table, scooping up the folder on his way out into the darkened corridor. He turned right. There was only a short stretch left and only one door. It faced him, marking the end of the corridor. This door was solid but it had the window above that still pulsed its dirty white. He reached out to work the handle.

Chapter 29

The door was heavier than the others and Richard had to adjust his stance to push it open. He lingered on the threshold. The gun in his grip had him back thinking like a soldier – reveal a room, assess for threats, enter to neutralise. The room beyond was large; the centre had been cleared, save for a man seated under the flickering light, facing him directly. Now Richard was in the room the flicker of the light was accompanied by a pinging noise. The chair was typical of an office but with bare metal where wheels might have been. The man was bound tight in white rope. His right arm was bent at the elbow like he was reaching up for his face but his fist was wrapped in tape. Something was taped to the hand to extend his reach and push firmly into his mouth, forcing his head back so he had no choice but to face the ceiling. Richard could see his eyes moving like he was struggling to get a view of who had entered the room. He made a noise that came out like a gurgle, like he was trying to say something.

Richard assessed the rest of the room and noticed a piece of paper on the floor. The man’s legs twitched and writhed against the ropes as Richard bent close to them to pick it up. It contained more typed words:

Richard,