‘Stay with him. I’ll get the lights back on. Keep your gun on him; if he makes a move, shoot him.’

I was halfway down the corridor when all the lights came on. I blinked three times, adjusting. Hattie and Jake were walking towards me. Both of them held a gun in each hand. I went towards them holding my side.

‘Lex, you’re bleeding.’ Jake came straight to me.

‘I’m OK.’

‘How many are there?’

‘There are two in the locker room and if you go back towards the canteen there are probably two or three down there. All of them are either dead or near dead. There’s a live sparkly one locked in Interrogation Room Three. There’s a dead one outside our office and an injured one outside Jagger. Frederick arrived five minutes ago.’ I winced as Jake peeled back the scarf to look at the cut. ‘He’s watching the one by Jagger.’

‘You’re going to need stitches.’

‘Figured as much. I’ll do a quick patch-up now and drop in to the Kensington Wing later.’

The exclusive, private Kensington Wing of Chelsea and Westminster Hospital was where all injured Rats ended up. We all had comprehensive health insurance, which covered our frequent stays there, where we were cared for by a fleet of security-cleared doctors and nurses who knew not to ask any questions and write reports to fit in with designated cover stories.

‘Get to the canteen and use the first aid kit there. We’ll go relieve Frederick and round up the Ghosts.’

As I was easing myself into a chair in the canteen I heard Jake opening the interrogation room door, followed by laughter and ‘Do you always wear glitter when on a break-in?’

I used the special glue inside the first aid kit as best I could. I just needed to stop the bleeding. I was bandaging myself up as Frederick walked in.

‘I didn’t realise you were injured.’ He came up to me and helped me fasten the bandage.

‘It’s just a scratch. I’ll be fine. Are you all right? You look a little pale.’

I felt bad. This wasn’t what he was used to. But he’d got my call for help and he’d come. One gun and little experience, blazing to try and do what he could.

‘I’m OK. I just . . . well, what will happen now?’

I shrugged. ‘The usual – interrogation for the live, the Clean Team for the dead.’

The Clean Team were incredibly efficient at eliminating any trace of a crime having been committed or a body being left behind. They worked for Mrs Moulage at Requiem, Eight’s crematorium business. The only way to drive around London without worrying about having a body in the boot is by having a business where you were expected to have a body in the boot.