McCormick slammed the data server door shut with half a second to spare, as the hand warheads detonated. Like the sound of a sprinting giant, the thunderous explosions leapt closer and closer and sent the HPFC rocking with the force of an earthquake. McCormick was thrown against the back wall. He fell to the floor, double-checked that the impact had not broken his spine, and scrambled to his feet as Floor P began to steady itself.

He smiled as the gravity of his actions dawned on him. The AME files would be left to starve in cyberspace, never to be found again. And after a visit to Floor B, Pearce would be naked of knowledge altogether. All McCormick needed was to find a way out of the HPFC alive, before his adrenalin ran out and he remembered how afraid he was.

‘He’s down here!’ came a raging young voice. ‘Follow the explosions!’

It was a human’s voice, of course, but one which McCormick did not recognise. Whoever it was, he was coming along McCormick’s escape route, leaving him with a choice between running for his life or finding a good place to hide.

He would lose a running race. But he remembered Shannon’s words about a Central Power Generator. It was one door away, and the best hiding place he could hope to find.

McCormick stumbled through the entrance to the neighbouring room, and closed the door moments before the angry soldier could storm around the corner. He switched off the lights and ran to the generator, a cylindrical casing filled with a mess of turbines and loud noises, and positioned himself behind it for his last stand.

A set of loud footsteps came to a halt outside the door. McCormick’s sense of adventure began to falter, and he finally admitted that he was alone in the dark, trapped and terrified.

‘You’re finished, you sad coffin-dodger!’ came a scream. ‘Come out and get yourself a peaceful death before I come in there and make it slow!’

An all-or-nothing strike had felt like such a good idea at the time. But there was no way out for McCormick anymore. His rational mathematician’s mind kept him from panic for just long enough to reach for his radio. It was time to play his last, most desperate move.

‘Kate!’ he yelled. ‘The code to the detonator is one-nine-two, double-three-seven!’

He scrambled for the acid grenades in his pockets, lay them on the top of the generator, and began to pull pins. After he had finished, he ran to cower in the furthest corner of the room.

‘McCormick?’ came Kate’s quivering voice.

‘One-nine-two, double-three-seven! Set it off at exactly half past ten, no questions asked, and phone comms the moment you’ve done it! And if I don’t get out of this… I love all three of you. So, so much.’

‘No—’