Then it stopped. The footage crackled to a halt and we all just sat there, not sure of the right response.

‘Terrible, terrible,’ muttered Cranham, as one of the men flicked the lanterns back on. He’d gone very pale. ‘Atrocious.’

Walt stared at him, one eye twitching slightly. He looked to be in pain but was holding it in. ‘An interesting choice of words, Mr Hemlock. Atrocious. Yes. An atrocity, you mean.’

‘Well, of course,’ muttered Cranham, mopping his face again. ‘Will these paramilitaries stop at nothing?’

Walt shot Pelletier a look. He rolled his eyes and gave that enigmatic little smile again. At the back of the room the American muttered, ‘Sweet Jesus’.

‘You saw what we saw, Mr Hemlock,’ said Walt, softly. ‘You saw the soldiers changing out of their uniforms and into civilian clothes?’

Cranham blustered, clearly embarrassed. ‘Oh, is that what I was looking at? Sorry, I don’t think that’s what I saw. They were uniforms, were they? So dashed hard to tell the difference, isn’t it?’

If he was expecting a laugh he didn’t get one. Nobody spoke at all for a moment. Then Sera sat forward in her chair. She looked up at Walt and gave him a little nod – a gesture of respect.

‘I am very pleased to see you,’ she said to him. ‘I did despair. I thought I had been lied to. To see you here, even as my brother suffers – it gives me hope that you will keep your word.’

All eyes turned to Walt. ‘Keep your word, Walt?’ asked the American in the polo neck. ‘What you been promising this little lady?’

Walt took a moment. He reached into his pocket and retrieved his cigarettes. He took his time about lighting it, igniting the flame on a golden Zippo lighter and glancing at the writing on the side of it.

‘Big D’s,’ he said, to nobody in particular, reading the writing on the side of the lighter. ‘You’ll know that place, yes?’

A man in a sober black suit gave a little twitch of his lips. He had iron grey hair cut in a sensible military style and was sitting in his chair with his back ramrod straight. ‘Belize City,’ he said, quietly. ‘Yes, I’ve read the reports.’

‘The risks they’ve taken for us,’ said Walt, looking at the tip of his cigarette. ‘The lives sacrificed. The tortures they’ve endured. Please, Mr Hemlock, do have the decency to curb your xenophobia while in the presence of heroes.’

Cranham looked affronted. Turned to the military man as if expecting support. ‘You hear this tripe, Gooden? Xenophobia’s the thing we should be wary of, is it? Here? Every possible rule broken, security compromised – senior civil servants all but press-ganged into attendance – liberties taken with one’s personal affiliations …’