‘Well, Barnes, what the hell is this about?’

She sat on the mattress. Her arms were around her knees, which were pulled up against her chest.

‘Waiting, Barnes. Why, in God’s name, did you do that?’

She was pale, except for the red welt at the side of her neck where the chop of the minder’s hand had caught her.

‘Don’t play the bloody madam. You’re in a pit of trouble. Bugger me about and you’ll be sorry. Why did you do it?’

She gazed back at him. Just once she breathed deeply, grimaced, and he remembered the kick she had taken in the ribs. Her body shook, her shoulders and her knees, but her face was expressionless. No insolence, no defiance, no fear.

‘Assault, actual bodily harm, grievous bodily harm, could even be Official Secrets Act. Barnes, understand me, you’re for the jump, so don’t fuck with me.’

Ben Christie glanced at him, contempt. ‘Tracy, you know us and we know you, you work with us and you trust us. Please, Tracy..

She said nothing. She gazed at them, through them. She seemed so small, hunched on the mattress, so vulnerable.

‘We’ll squeeze it out of you, damn sure we will. Last time, what was it about?’

Ben Christie said gently, like he was talking with that damn dog, ‘All we want to do is help, Tracy, but we have to know why.’

There was the shake in her shoulders and knees. It could have been the shock, but he’d have sworn that she was quite in control, so calm. The silence hung around them. The way she sat, the way she held her knees, he could see up her thighs. He turned away. The blood was in the veins of his cheeks.

‘Don’t damn well come back to me tomorrow, next week, with your story and expect sympathy from me. Made your own bed, Barnes, and you can bloody well lie on it.’

Captain Christie reached out his hand to her, as if to touch her. ‘Please, Tracy, I meant it. I meant it absolutely when I said we wanted to help you…’