“Awright.” He puts down the copy of Grenade Fancier’s Monthly he’s reading and unlocks the vault door. “Follow me.”

Shortly thereafter I’m equipped with a new extra-shiny protective ward and an ultra-thin anti-stab vest—breastplate and back protector—suitable for wearing under outer layers. “Can I interest you in a little something for the weekend?” he wheedles. “Just a little one?”

“You know I don’t like guns,” I complain as Harry hauls out a Glock 17 in standard police spec. I rub my right upper arm. “I don’t have the upper arm strength to hold a pistol one-handed for long.” Not since that business when the Wandsworth Cell of the Brotherhood of the Black Pharaoh dined out on Bob sashimi, adding cannibalism to their charge sheet: the dent in my arm is a souvenir of the occasion. Also, in event of a police extraction, I really do not want them calling down SCO19 on my ass by mistake: those guys shoot first and ask questions later.

“Well then, let me see.” Harry puts the Glock back and has a rummage in the drawers. “How about this?”

He pulls out something that looks at first glance like a silver knuckle duster, until I see that it’s only got one ring, with some sort of crown on it—whatever it is, you’re supposed to grip it in your fist. “What’s that?” I ask.

“Stunner. You wrap your hand round the battery and capacitor and punch, like so. But it’s also a wave guide: see these markings?” (I peer at the indicated runes.) “Class four banishment charge. If someone tries to summon a nasty on your ass, this’ll send it right back where it came from.”

“Okay, that I like.” I pick up the taser-cum-banishment-charge. “I think we’re about done here. I’ll just make sure my camera’s got a full charge.” (It’s a new one, a replacement for the one I totaled when we closed out Andy’s office.) And with that, I head back to the briefing room, where a package containing one G4S cleaner’s uniform has arrived.

• • •

MEANWHILE:

“Hello? This is Mhari Murphy checking in. I’d like to speak to Alison White in Human Resources. Yes, I’ll hold.”

Mhari reclines her chair and catches Oscar’s eye. She nods minutely. He picks up the handset on his voice terminal and mutes it, then listens in.

“Hi, Alison? Long time no see! Yes I’m fine, how about you? How’s Steve doing?” (She listens for a while, with appropriate verbal punctuation.) “The reason I’m calling is, I need a little favor. It’s, um, yes, it’s a Laundry problem. I’ve stumbled over something unusual and I need your help in tidying it up . . .”

• • •