But he needed to find some more men. If he was going to do something about the gas, then he had to assemble a team, a body of men who would be able to join him. Men like Hull and Andreae, men who he could rely upon to be loyal to him. If he was going to have to deal with the sarin himself, if he was going to have to track it down and destroy it, then he couldn’t do it alone.

And always there, at the back of his mind, was Anna. His thoughts kept returning to her, wondering where she was, how she was, if she was. The thought that he might be able to see her soon was almost too good—he didn’t allow himself to believe that it would happen. The notion that Strasser would be true to his word was inconceivable, but there was surely some chance of it.

It was either the church or him, but Lockhart felt hot. He guessed it was him, as he vainly inserted a finger into his stiff collar, fruitlessly attempting to cool down. He was sitting in the front pew, next to Richard and his father. His leg was jigging violently up and down.

“Keep still, brother,” said Richard. “You’ll just make it worse.”

“Make what worse?”

“Your sweat.”

“Shit. Is it really—”

“Shh! You’re not supposed to say that in here.”

“Shi—”

“You nearly said it again!”

“All right, all right. Pass me a handkerchief.”

Richard produced one from his breast pocket.

“I was saving this for the ladies,” he said, before handing it over.

“Your brother, the groom, takes precedence,” said Lockhart, bending down in the pew to wipe his face out of sight of the two hundred or so members of the congregation.

“This organist, even though he’s ancient, is pretty good,” said Richard.

“Is he? I wouldn’t know—you know I’m rubbish at the piano.”

“Who is he?”

“All I know is that he’s some sort of music professor, Saunders or something.”

“Have you seen his tails?”

Lockhart looked over to the organ. Richard was right to remark on Saunders’ tails—they were filthy, covered in assorted gray and white stains, moth-holes visible from ten feet away.

“I hope whatever diseases that lie within the evil tails of Mr. Saunders do not migrate to the chaste and ivory purity of your bride’s dress.”

“Stop it,” said Lockhart, struggling not to get the giggles.

An usher, one of Anna’s cousins, approached them.

“They’re here,” he said.

“Thanks, Bill,” said Richard.