‘DOES HE MEAN IT? Does he mean it?’ the Home Secretary demanded. Her world was spinning off its orbit. Whichever way she turned, she saw nothing but chaos. Tibbetts was the first to respond. ‘He’s already shot one Cabinet minister, beaten up Harry Jones and the US ambassador. We’ve precious little basis for disbelieving him.’ She sat with her head in her hands, her battered red nails standing out against skin bleached pale by exhaustion. ‘We need to decide, Home Secretary,’ Five pressed. When, at last, she raised her head, her eyes were rimmed with anguish. ‘Then I believe we go in as soon as they start shooting the boys.’ ‘That won’t be in time to save them,’ Hastie reminded her. Her nostrils flared in frustration. ‘No, not the Queen, either, so you keep telling me.’ ‘So why wait. Why not let us go now?’ ‘Because!’ she snapped, frustrated that she should be forced to repeat the argument once more, knowing they doubted her.
