'Bun?' Holmes asked me.

'Are you serious?' They're like overdone concrete in this bloody hole.

'Tea, then,' Holmes said courteously, and signalled to Daisy. This man's courtesy is one of his many strengths, and guaranteed to drive you up the wall at times when you're ready to strangle the first person who's got the nerve to say good morning.

'Relax,' he said, 'old horse.' He watched me from under his thick black eyebrows, his eyes intent.

'Look,' I said, 'it's been six weeks.'

'I know.' He asked Daisy for some tea and she limped away with her arthritic hip, her red wig wobbling.

'Let me tell you,' Holmes said quietly, 'about friend Kearns. He — '

'They shouldn't send him out there, for Christ's sake, after what happened. How many missions has he been on — five, six?'

'The point,' Holmes said with careful emphasis, 'is that he needs to go out there more than ever, if in fact they don't call the whole thing off, as Shatner says.' He lowered his voice, keeping his rather hypnotic eyes on mine. 'He didn't do terribly well the last time out, went much too fast into the end phase and left his support people behind, wanting to impress London with a race to the finish. He brought the mission home, but — '

'This was Bolero?'

'Yes. But of course he nearly came unstuck, and his control had him on the carpet when he got back to London. He — '

'Who was his control?'

'Mr Loman.'

'That bloody man. Kearns is a neophyte, wants nurturing, not kicking.'

Holmes looked down and said nothing, didn't agree. I heard the door of the signals room slam as someone came out; the Caff was right next to it in the basement.