No, this is not the smallest thing. My boyfriend just told me our lives are in real danger. He only needs to screw up on c e, and, and…

‘McCormick knows,’ Raj continued. ‘I was honest with him about it. That’s why he’s not sent me anywhere for a while. Nowhere I could get captured, anyway…’

Raj fell silent. Kate heard it too. A creak came from the grass-covered trapdoor, and by the time they turned their heads around Mark was halfway out.

‘Back inside,’ he grunted. ‘Now.’

‘Oh come on!’ said Raj, as if he had just lost a life in a videogame. ‘We’ve only just come out!’

‘And now you’re coming back in. Move.’

Mark Gunnarsson, by far the fiercest student in Oakenfold – even more so after his year in a youth offenders’ institution – spoke with a surprisingly calm voice. With a reputation like his, he never needed to shout. His stony face and piercing eyes were enough of a substitute for raw volume.

‘Three minutes, mate,’ offered Raj. ‘It’s her brother’s birthday.’

‘It’s his birthday inside too,’ Mark answered, standing himself upright on the grass. ‘Now, McCormick’s woken up the whole bloody house and got us searching the place like you’re properly missing. And I already lost an hour to Ewan getting ready for his precious raid. Get inside so I can go back to sleep.’

He held an open hand towards the trapdoor, his shoulders hunched and his face humourless.

Kate rose to her feet, as did Raj at her side. As their heads came close on the way up, she whispered into his ear: ‘How did they know we were gone?’

‘Don’t know,’ she replied. ‘We did the same as every Sunday.’

It didn’t take her long to work it out.

‘It’s not Sunday,’ she said. ‘All the other days Jack wakes up early to power the generator, so he must have…’

When she turned to the trapdoor, Mark was gazing at the sky with widened eyes. Something was wrong.

The sound was distinctive enough. Maybe because there was nothing else in the countryside. Or maybe because a year had passed since they had last heard an aeroplane.

Somewhere to the east, a fleet of them were heading for the grey line in the distance. But Kate had never seen aeroplanes that fast. They weren’t usually that shape either, but it was difficult to tell from so far away.

‘Missiles,’ Mark whispered.

Kate gasped. It would explain why there were so many of them, flying in no particular formation, and at a steep downward angle. Someone, somewhere, had launched an enormous missile attack on New London Citadel.