IT HAD BEEN FITTED out with grey carpet, grey plastic seats and a drooping, greyish plant in a stainless-steel pot. The only splash of colour was a poster advertising ‘Getaway Island – the Perfect Escape’. Opposite the lift was a service window with a metal grille over it. The dark-grey door beside the window was firmly shut. Marcus was reminded of the office where his mother sometimes went to pay her car insurance. ‘Is this the embassy?’ Edison queried. ‘I don’t know.’ Holly peered at the sign on the counter, which said ‘If unattended, please ring bell’. ‘We’d better ask.’ ‘I’ll do that,’ Jake offered. He picked up his suitcase and strode across the room to the service window, where he vigorously rang a small silver bell. After about half a minute, someone answered his summons – but the grille over the window was so heavy, and the glass behind it was so thick and smeared, that Marcus could only make out a vague, dark silhouette hovering behind the counter.
