‘Yes, but can he give us the information we need by telephone? I was rather hoping to speak to him in person. Any explanation he can give might be a bit technical, mightn’t it?’

‘Why don’t we get someone who knows about satellites to talk to him for us?’ Dreyfuss asked.

‘Someone like Martin Hepton,’ said Parfit.

‘Hepton?’ Dreyfuss sounded uncertain.

‘He’d be perfect. For one thing, he knows about satellites, and for another, he’s in London.’ Parfit turned to Gilchrist. ‘Get your man Villiers to find out where Hepton’s staying. We need to speak to him.’

‘I’ve just had a word with Villiers, actually,’ said Gilchrist. ‘He said Hepton had mentioned the name of a friend in London. Jill Watson. Villiers didn’t reckon Hepton was headed there, but there’s always a chance …’

Parfit noticed the numb look on Dreyfuss’ face. ‘What’s wrong, Major?’

‘I don’t want Jilly getting mixed up in this,’ Dreyfuss hissed. ‘Anything but that. Keep her out of it, Parfit.’ He grabbed at Parfit’s wrist and held it tight. ‘Keep her out of it!’

21

Hepton went to the door and studied the tiny surveillance screen. It showed the main door of the block, and, at the touch of a button, the interior hallway as well. There was nobody about. It was five o’clock. People would still be at work. More importantly, there was no sign of Harry.

He went back to his exploration of the flat. He found a chef’s knife in the kitchen drawer and slipped it into his pocket. In another drawer he found a large box of matches. He shook it to convince himself of its contents, then slipped it into his pocket too. From the living room’s waste-paper bin he took a copy of the previous day’s Herald, then, so armed, returned to the front door of the flat and opened it.

He looked left and right along the corridor. All clear. Then he stared up towards where the smoke detector sat, a neat little unit flush-mounted into the ceiling. He had noticed it upon arriving. He always noticed ceilings.

That, Martin, he said to himself, is what comes of an adolescence spent staring upwards.

The rolled-up newspaper took a little encouragement, the first three matches failing to catch. He tore a few strips down the sides, then tried again. These strips caught and ignited the rest of the paper. The ceiling was high, and he stood on tiptoe beneath the smoke alarm, holding the newspaper as close to it as he could.

It took forever. His arm ached, and he wondered what he would say if someone happened to emerge from one of the other five apartments along the corridor. But no one did. The paper started to smoulder, the smoke rose, and finally the detector began to whine, setting off alarm bells all around the building.