McCormick felt his body falling to the side, but steadied himself just in time. Nicholas Grant packed a serious punch. The white-haired dictator wandered to Marshall’s mahogany desk with a little joy in his step, removed a key from a drawer, and unlocked the plastic covering that surrounded a black switch on the giant computer. McCormick’s eyes followed Grant’s to the digital clock on the wall, which he had not noticed before that moment. It read ‘10:16:23 p.m., 19/05/0001’.

Thirteen and a half minutes without breaking. Easy peasy .

‘That “Kate” you were talking to over the radio,’ Grant started. ‘Kate Arrowsmith, if I remember right. How accurate’s her watch?’

‘Set to Big Ben. Remember that thing?’

‘Collateral damage. But it’s good to know that our clocks are synchronised. I want to know exactly how long I have to deal with her threat.’

You and me both.

‘So I have a few questions to ask,’ Grant continued. ‘Iain, is Gwen nearly here?’

‘She tells me she is,’ Marshall muttered from the entrance. McCormick detected resentment in Marshall’s voice; presumably he despised his office being occupied by his colleagues.

‘You’ll like Gwen Crossland,’ Grant said to McCormick. ‘She’s very persuasive.’

‘I didn’t spend my last Christmas running around and planting bombs just to give the game away with thirteen minutes to go.’

‘We’ll let her be the judge of that. And it’s not just the bomb I’m interested in. How did you shelter so many people in the depths of England, against all my satellites, thermal imaging technology and random clone searches? More importantly, where the hell are you sheltering? Once my shield’s up and we’re done with your little weapon, I’ll want some answers to those questions too.’

McCormick’s breath held itself inside his throat.

He doesn’t know where Spitfire’s Rise is. Alex didn’t give it away after all.

But that’s not the point here. Grant won’t need to go after us on ce he’s raised the shield. He’d be hunting us for revenge, not strategy.

‘Ah,’ chuckled Grant with a slow nod, ‘now you’re nervous. Which reminds me. Iain, Nathaniel, how anxious has the good doctor been since his capture?’

‘No more than you’d expect,’ answered Pearce from the back of the room. ‘Actually, his mood’s the same as when we first met him on Floor F.’

‘So if his nerves haven’t changed, it’s fair to say we haven’t walked into the blast radius by coming here?’

Pearce shrugged.

‘If it were me, I’d take him on a tour of Floor B and watch for a change of expression.’

‘Give me a break,’ McCormick answered with a limp cough. ‘It’s late at night, and I’ve done a year’s worth of jogging today. I’m tired.’

Grant smiled.