Dreyfuss walked slowly along this corridor and that. Two men walked past him carrying large holdalls. They smiled, assuming him to be one of the replacement crew perhaps. He smiled back and kept walking. A door was open, allowing him a view of an empty office. The desk had been cleared, but there was a clipboard lying on top of it. He darted into the room and darted out again, carrying the clipboard now. He held it against his chest, keeping his injured hand in his pocket. The hand had stopped giving him pain. Now, it just throbbed. Nobody seemed to be paying him much notice. He hoped Hepton was all right. Dreyfuss’ part in the plan was more nebulous. He had to find Jilly, supposing they were keeping her here. It was an outside chance, though, wasn’t it? Still, Hepton had told him about the disused stores. It was as good a place as any to look.

‘Mr Fulton?’ There was a man walking towards him. ‘Mr Fulton?’ he repeated. He was trying to examine Dreyfuss’ name tag.

Dreyfuss looked down at it and saw that Peter Fulton was indeed typed there, with an indecipherable signature scrawled beneath. The small photograph was of a man younger than Dreyfuss, the hair fairer, and wearing glasses.

‘Not a very good likeness,’ the man noted.

Dreyfuss smiled, trying to look younger than his years. ‘It was taken a while ago,’ he said. He pointed to his eyes. ‘And the contact lenses make a difference.’

The man thought for a moment, then nodded. ‘Quite so,’ he said. He gestured along the corridor with his arm. ‘The guard on the main door told me you’d arrived. Shall we go?’

‘Of course.’ Go where? Dreyfuss was thinking. And who the hell was he supposed to be anyway? It would be just his luck if this Peter Fulton were crucial to the running of the station. They’d be asking him questions he couldn’t possibly hope to answer.

‘Everybody’s ready,’ the man said. Dreyfuss groaned silently. ‘When did you arrive?’

‘Oh, not long ago.’

The man nodded, seeming satisfied. He looked as though he had other things on his mind, which was fine by Dreyfuss. They walked through one set of doors, then another. At least they were progressing into uncharted territory. Dreyfuss checked each door they passed with his eyes, not sure what clues he might be given to Jilly’s whereabouts: a scream perhaps, or a muffled cry? Guards outside the door?