‘Well, let’s just say it’s discreet.’

‘One thing worries me,’ Hepton said, watching Parfit opening the door to their room. ‘How is it they keep being able to find us?’

‘Search me,’ said Parfit, pushing the door wide. The room was large, and Hepton didn’t mind sharing. It was seven o’clock, and outside, the morning’s traffic jams were building up nicely. Work was beginning for the day, and Parfit suggested they rest till noon.

‘Suits me,’ said Hepton. ‘But listen, did I tell you about the clever little transmitter Harry planted on me?’

‘No,’ said Parfit, sounding uninterested.

‘Maybe they’re using something similar to keep tabs on us.’ Hepton was becoming excited.

‘Maybe,’ Parfit said, his voice dull with drowsiness.

Hepton saw that he was making no impression on the man, absolutely none. He went to the door and peered out into the empty hallway.

‘No guards?’ he asked.

‘No,’ said Parfit, slipping off his shoes. ‘No guards. Now that they’ve got Miss Watson, I shouldn’t think you’re in much danger. They’ll try using her as a lever first. Sleep tight.’ In trousers, bare feet and shirt open at the neck, he fell onto the furthest bed and turned his face away.

Hepton sat on the edge of his own bed. He lay back, resting his hands behind his head. His mind still surged with energy. The heavy curtains were only half closed, giving enough light to see by. He examined the ceiling, its ornate mouldings. He tried to empty his mind of thoughts, but they swam around like fish in a tank, this way and that, passing each other, almost touching, then darting away. He closed his eyes, but that just made his whole head swim. What was he doing? They had Jilly: how was he supposed to sleep?

He thought of Cam Devereux, only two streets away. Those scared, haunted eyes, the hollow voice. The man had been hiding something. But what? Hepton replayed the scene: the hotel bar, the pianist playing to a table of women, Devereux’s hard American inflections as he told his story. Of how the stranger had come to the Argos control room, set himself up at a console and …

Why do that? Why put him at a console in the main control room, with the full knowledge of the controllers? Drawing attention to the very man who was to be Argos’s executioner. It didn’t make sense. Surely if he’d needed to be on base at all, they would have placed him somewhere away from curious eyes, in a room of his own, with his own terminal.

Yes!