‘No more than I usually take.’ Vincent laughed again, but Hepton managed only a smile, listening to that laughter, to its nervy hollow centre.

‘Know what I think, Paul?’ he said. Then he leaned towards his friend and lowered his voice. ‘I think you’re in trouble. I think you’re frightened. I think this is all bullshit.’ He nodded in the general direction of everything around them. ‘And I think you need a friend like me. Maybe I’m wrong.’ He rose to his feet. ‘Give me a call if you feel like talking.’

‘Martin!’

But Hepton knew that the only way to end the scene effectively was for him to walk and keep on walking. So he did. He wasn’t going to learn anything here, not unless he could scare Paul enough to make him say something.

He was practically at the car when he heard footsteps hurrying across the gravel behind him.

‘Martin, wait!’ Paul Vincent caught up with him, looking paler now after the exertion. ‘Martin.’ He paused for breath. ‘At least stay for afternoon tea.’

It wasn’t the answer Hepton wanted. He opened the driver’s-side door. Vincent’s hand came down onto his own level.

‘Look,’ he said. He glanced around him. ‘I’m going to say this just the once, but that should be enough. You always were a good listener, weren’t you?’

‘I still am, Paul.’

‘Well, listen now. Stay out of it. Take a holiday. Suggest it to Fagin. He’ll approve it. Go off somewhere warm.’ He laughed at this, the sweat gleaming on his face. ‘I mean somewhere exotic, somewhere quiet.’

‘That’s friendly advice, is it?’

Vincent shrugged. Hepton could see the two orderlies in their white uniforms watching them from the main building. Could he bundle Paul into the car and make a getaway? Not against the fitter and younger man’s will. He climbed into the Renault and closed the door.

‘Tell me,’ he said through the open window. ‘Really, just between us, what did you think you’d discovered?’

Vincent sighed. His voice when he spoke was no more than a whisper. ‘There was something up there, Martin. Something big.’ He glanced over his shoulder towards the orderlies. ‘But that doesn’t seem to be the point.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘The point seems to be that no one cares. One name, Martin.’

‘Yes?’

‘A man called Villiers. He came to see me, to ask a few questions. He didn’t give his name, but I asked at the desk afterwards and they told me. I didn’t like him much. Steer around him if you meet him.’

‘What questions did he ask?’

‘Oh, I don’t know, routine stuff. What happened at the base? What happened with my computer? That sort of thing.’ Vincent paused. ‘The disk got wiped, didn’t it? The hard disk?’ Hepton nodded, and Vincent sighed. ‘They’re being pretty thorough.’