‘You’re the logical one,’ Ewan answered, looking across the bodies on the floor. ‘Three clones found their way to this particular house, and all three of them were modelled on someone who’s been there before. What’s the most likely explanation?’

‘That they share some of Alex’s memories.’

Ewan’s eyes stared piercingly into Jack’s, filled with anger.

‘So where else do they know the way to?’

Chapter 11

By the time Ewan reached Spitfire’s Rise, it was breakfast time on May 18th. Less than forty-eight hours until Nicholas Grant’s birthday, the anniversary of Takeover Day, the rise of the AME shield, and the end of their chances of winning the war.

Jack and Gracie followed him through the trapdoor, and endured the silent journey through the tunnel to the armoury.

In my head, I ’ d hoped all seven of us would return together.

Oh, who am I kidding ? The whole thing was a trap from the start. We were always going to end up separated. Even Raj’s death wasn’t that surprising when you think about it. Bloody tragic, but not surprising.

When he opened the door into the armoury, Thomas was sat next to the Memorial Wall.

On most days, opening the door to Thomas was like coming home to an overexcited Labrador. But that morning the boy rose to his feet like a tired old man, the excitement gone from him.

Does he already know about Raj? Or is this about something else?

What happened on the operating table?

Thomas ambled up to Ewan and gave him a soft hug, followed by Jack and even Gracie in turn.

‘You OK, Thomas?’ asked Jack.

The boy shrugged.

‘Is McCormick alive?’ Ewan asked.

‘He’s OK,’ Thomas replied, offering no further details.

Ewan glanced at the Memorial Wall, and found the name of Raj Singh already chiselled beneath Charlie’s. That may have explained Thomas’ mood, but Ewan’s patience was too low for uncertainties. He headed for the steps up to the house, and was met on the ground floor by Mark and Simon on the living room sofas.

‘Where’s Kate?’ he asked.

‘Don’t worry, we all lived,’ replied Mark. ‘She won’t be leaving her room for a while though.’

‘Mc—’

He didn’t have time to finish the word, as the man had already heard his voice and walked in from the kitchen. Joseph McCormick was alive, well, and smiling.

‘Ewan!’ he said with a wavy, uncharacteristically emotional voice, ‘I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you again.’

‘Me too, sir,’ Ewan gasped.

‘No hugs I’m afraid. My abdomen’s been cauterised together by a soldering iron, so I’d rather not go squishing things around. Nonetheless,’ he finished, holding out one hand in a shaking position, ‘it’s good to have you home.’