The final act, he thought; he could feel his mood changing for the better. “How long do you reckon?” he said, checking his watch. It was 1.20 pm. “An hour, top-side, I’d say; two-fifteen latest. Unless Harding wants to pop over and tuck everybody into bed.” “He’s only doing his job, Gally. I can’t imagine he wants to be here. I’m sure he’d much rather be back in Westminster slaving over a hot secretary.” Gally laughed. “So would I, come to think of it.” They watched the line of cabins roll onto the lifting deck where it curved round into its loose spiral. The rail linkage decoupled automatically and the prisoners started their two-minute ride up to the level of the main platform receiving floor. “Talk of the devil,” said Gally. Lawrence Harding walked across to them. “Nearly over,”
