“I’m sorry, Leni, but my decision is final.”

“Oh it’s your decision, is it?”

“Yes it is!”

“Well you try stopping me! I haven’t come this far just to stay in this shitty little room. I haven’t risked everything to take a backseat! You’re taking me along, and it’s as simple as that!”

“No, Leni,” said Lockhart calmly. “It’s not an option.”

He knew it was pointless even trying to get to sleep, but he tried anyway. There was no going back. By tomorrow evening he could be dead, having failed in both destroying the gas and finding Anna. He knew that the chance of achieving either was slim, but he had to try. Death was something that he now accepted; its proximity, its violent inevitability. He was willing to die, no matter how much he loved Anna and Amy, because he knew it was right. It would happen tomorrow, he was sure, one way or another. He prayed that it would be quick, that when it happened he wouldn’t know about it—a bullet to the back of his head; a shot straight through his heart; a sudden incineration in a massive explosion.

Whichever way it came, he would embrace it. He had done as much as he could. If he lived, then he would know he was charmed, but he wouldn’t live. He deserved death, it beckoned him on with a comforting smile. His parents would be there, as would Richard. Manoli too. Even Worstead. And maybe Anna was there, waiting for him to arrive, asking him why it had taken him so long. Together, they would watch over Amy, making sure that Anna’s sister did a good job. Amy would be all right, but they would miss her, miss her madly. He imagined their tears falling through the sky, falling like rain onto Amy, and she would look up, knowing that they were up there, and maybe she would smile.

Lockhart got up at five o’clock. He hadn’t slept, but he didn’t feel tired—there was too much adrenaline. Funny, he thought, as he shaved, that was probably the last time in his life that he would lie in a bed. This would be the last time he shaved, the last time he looked in a mirror. He smiled ruefully and splashed cold water over his face, rinsing the shaving soap away. He would look smart for Anna and his Maker.

He knew he should eat, but he didn’t feel hungry. He would get the men up first, tell them to be ready in ten minutes to load the truck, after which they would have breakfast. He walked down the silent corridors and opened the door to the unit’s dormitory.

“Up!” he shouted. “Down by the truck in ten minutes!”