Fagin rubbed his temples. He was too old for this, too old for Hepton’s tricks. ‘He’s doing something,’ he said. ‘But I don’t quite know what …’ His fingers worked slowly, methodically, on the keyboard, trying to cancel whatever Hepton was doing. Then it dawned on him. His voice became a whisper. ‘He’s using two terminals.’

‘What?’

‘He’s using two terminals at the same time.’

‘So open a second terminal! Now!’ Villiers pushed Fagin against the console. Fagin reached to a second computer and started coding in. ‘Perhaps there’s still time,’ Villiers said.

‘Yes, perhaps,’ agreed Fagin.

Jilly, however, saw what they could not. One of the monitor screens had burst into life. And instead of the aerial views she had become used to, she was watching a nature programme. The scene looked very much like Africa. Parched earth, creatures gathering around a drying pool of water. Then a voice.

‘Quickly, the animals learn that old enmities must be put aside, for now at least. Water is necessary for their survival, so they gather around, forgetting that they are enemies, knowing only that life is their priority. Hunters and hunted sip side by side …’

Villiers and Fagin turned slowly, disbelievingly, towards the TV monitor. For that was, unmistakably, where the sound was coming from. Stuck to the top of it was a large piece of Dymo tape, on which was printed ZEPHYR: LIVE PICTURES.

Fagin began to laugh. ‘I see what he’s done now!’ he roared hysterically. ‘I see!’

‘What?’ screeched Villiers. ‘What?’

‘Look,’ said Fagin, pointing to the screen. The wildlife programme had vanished, to be replaced by sharply focused pictures of Buchan, the camera homing in on the building work, the underground silos, the tips of the missiles themselves. Villiers opened his mouth in horror.

There was a deferential cough at the open door.

‘Good evening, Villiers,’ said Parfit, his gun extremely steady in his hand.

39