There was no escape. He sat up sharply, disturbing the straw underneath him. What would they do to him? It would be easier for him if he knew- he would know then whether he could counter it or not. But he had no answers; all outside his experience. Drugs – perhaps they would use drugs?

That would be painless and would remove the stigma of confession, at least. But what if it were to be pain? What if that were the instrument they should use? They'd break him, not because he was special, or different: they'd break anyone with pain… David and Isaac as well, and Rebecca quicker than all of them. Everyone has a limit, and they'd push you right through it till you were screaming, shrieking, till the names came tumbling out so fast that they couldn't write them down, and the addresses and the rendezvous. Everything they wanted and much more, only stop, stop and no more! Please, not again, please! He was stirring on the mattress, his body squirming, compressing the flesh together. Pain was what frightened him, the pain of a beating from the truncheons, from the electrodes they would wire to his limbs. And they'd have a place to do that, somewhere in the building, that too was a certainty. If it were to be drugs then you were helpless, unable to summon resistance. But what was the antidote to pain? Moses tossed and heaved now, his mind taking control and leading him along a course from which he could not deflect it.

Perhaps it was courage? Not really important for how long. For a few hours, a day perhaps. To give the others time – had to give them time to go. And what if they didn't know that he had been taken? He wondered how long he had been in the cell, but realized he had lost any sense of time after they'd taken his watch. Would have heard by now, wouldn't they? Must have done. And they should be running, dispersing, because he wasn't strong, wasn't ready for the pain, could not give them much time.