“Careless, Joker,” said a voice by his left ear. Cramer shifted his weight and brought up his right arm, trying to grab his adversary but the man behind him swayed easily away and swept Cramer’s feet from underneath him with a savage kick. Cramer hit the ground heavily and before he could react the man was on top of him and the gun was once more pressing into his throat. “Very careless.”

Cramer squinted up at the facemask. “Colonel?” he said.

The figure pulled off his facemask with his left hand, the right keeping the paintgun hard up against Cramer’s flesh. Cramer looked up at the familiar face of his former mentor. It had been more than two years since he had set eyes on the senior SAS officer. His hair was considerably greyer than last time they’d met, and cut slightly shorter, but the features were the same: eyes so brown they were almost black, a wide nose which had been broken several times, and a squarish jaw that gave him a deceptive farmboy look. Cramer knew the Colonel had a double first from Cambridge, was once one of the top twelve chess players in the United Kingdom, and was an acknowledged expert on early Victorian watercolours. “Good to see you, Colonel,” said Cramer.

“You’re unfit, Sergeant Cramer,” said the Colonel with a smile. “You wouldn’t last two minutes in the Killing House with those sort of moves.”

“It’s been a long time, Colonel. I guess I’m out of practice.”

“You’re out of condition, too. A few forced marches across the Brecon Beacons would do you the world of good.” The Colonel stood up and offered Cramer a hand to help him up off the ground. “You sounded like an elephant on crutches, Joker. And you never, ever, enter a room without checking out all the angles. You know that.”

Cramer rubbed his neck. “I can’t believe I fell for the oldest trick in the book.”

The Colonel slapped him on the back. “Have you got somewhere we can talk?”

Cramer took him downstairs and told Preston he was going to use the office for a while. Two more teams of paintball players had arrived and Preston was busy setting up a game for them. Cramer closed the door and waved the Colonel to a chair. He pulled the bottle of Famous Grouse from his desk drawer and held it out to the Colonel, who nodded. Cramer poured large measures of whisky into two coffee mugs and handed one to his visitor. They clinked mugs.

“To the old days,” said Cramer.

“Fuck them all,” said the Colonel.

“Yeah, fuck them all,” said Cramer. They drank, and Cramer waited for the Colonel to explain why he was visiting.

“So, how long have you been working here?” asked the Colonel.

Cramer shrugged. “A few months. It’s just temporary, until I can find something else.”

“Security job didn’t work out?”