‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Roth snapped at his boss, ‘and don’t be stupid. Grant will string you up if you torture him for information.’

‘Why, what would you do? Because I know what I’d do in your position.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Get the hell downstairs like you’ve been commanded, and clear up the other three. Now.’

Roth hesitated, but ultimately obeyed, as Marshall drew out his handgun. McCormick and Marshall were left alone long enough for a quick glance at the clock, which revealed eight minutes remaining. Not one second later, Gwen Crossland walked into the room.

‘How can I help you, gentlemen?’ she asked softly.

McCormick bit his lip. This tiny ageing woman looked like the opposite of a typical villain, but there was a little something in her facial expression that told him she was a perfect fit on the inside.

‘Nick says you’re a slow cow,’ said Marshall.

Crossland gave a discreet smile with the corners of her lips, but no further response.

‘We need your help extracting information from this man,’ Marshall continued.

‘The location of a mysterious weapon, if I heard right.’

‘No, we found that. My soldiers are disarming it as we speak. He has other information we need.’

‘The location of his headquarters,’ said Crossland, adjusting the top button of her cardigan. ‘Well, you won’t get that in eight minutes. I could perhaps get you a precise address by the end of the week.’

‘A precise address? Like you managed with Daniel Amopoulos? Or Alex Ginelli?’

Daniel… Alex… two of my boys. Will I ever know what you did to them ?

‘Neither of them had the address we needed to extract,’ Crossland continued. ‘This man will have a much higher likelihood of knowing. And if your traditional methods fail, call your friend Nathaniel and clone this person. We haven’t used the memory transfer technology since…’

Marshall turned to her with a transparent look of surprise.

‘Well,’ Crossland said, ‘I probably shouldn’t talk in front of a patient as if he’s not in the room.’

She pursed her lips, and turned to face the exit.

‘I’ll be in my lower office, on Floor G,’ she finished, ‘setting up my equipment. If you could dispatch a team of clones to escort him down Stairwell 32, I’ll be happy to meet them there.’

Floor G, Stairwell 32, thought McCormick, far, far away from the luxury of Marshall’s office. Right next to the satellite control room, if I’ve memorised the maps right.

The thought filled him with uninhibited dread.

When the time comes, should I tell her we’ll both be in the blast radius ?

Before Crossland could leave the room, a string of buzzes sounded on Marshall’s radio. He held out a flat hand to stop her in her tracks, and brought the radio to his ear.