'What?' Wilkes looked at me as if I was a madman.
'No really. King John. Honest,' I said. 'He was being looked after by the military when we met him. He kept it very quiet, though. Didn't want anyone to know. Just wanted to be one of the gang. Someone out there became the monarch earlier tonight. But whoever they are, they'll probably never know.'
Wilkes shook his head in disbelief. 'You are a bunch of fucking loonies. How the hell did we ever let ourselves get involved with you? I should kill you right now, you little shit.'
'Easy,' said Green, his voice stern with warning. The sight of this slight teenager telling this burly Ranger to behave was laughable, but such was the authority in Green's voice that Wilkes just clenched his jaw and turned away in disgust, done with the pair of us.
'Ferguson's alive too, in case you were wondering,' I said archly. 'I think they're torturing him at the moment, trying to get intel on your lot.'
Wilkes didn't say a word.
'Fine, you have a good sulk,' I said. 'Green and I will try and come up with a plan to get us out of here.'
Green laughed. 'We'd better be quick,' he said. 'They're assembling a firing squad right now. The guy who marched us here said we'll be dead on the last strike of eight o'clock.'
'There's still Jane,' I pointed out.
'You saw her?' he asked.
'Yeah, she was here. She got shot by Cooper and went to a hospital to patch herself up. She knew his name, and he called her Kate.'
'Kate?'
'Hmm. It's her real name, from before she came to work at St Mark's. She was there under witness protection. And Cooper said he used to be a copper. I wonder.'
'You think they knew each other before The Cull?'
I nodded. 'It's possible. I didn't get the impression she was a prisoner here. Not like you'd think, anyway. Jane's our ace in the hole. When she gets back, she might be able to influence Cooper somehow. I don't know.'
'You're clutching at straws, kid,' sneered Wilkes. 'We're dead. Simple as.'
As if to prove his point, the door to the committee room swung open and a tall soldier stood framed in the entrance.
'Up,' he barked.
We all got to our feet and shuffled towards the door.
'Get a fucking move on,' shouted the lackey.
As we walked down the long corridor between the Lords and Commons, on our way to be executed, I was surprised to find that I wasn't nervous. I recalled the terror I felt when the Blood Hunters wrapped that noose around my neck and dropped me into space, or the fear when Blythe pulled the lever of the electric chair, or the desperation when I realised Rowles was about to blow us to dust. The urge to live, the fear of death, were strong in me then.
But now I just felt numb, empty, resigned. Maybe even a little relieved. I'd been shot before and it hadn't started to hurt until a good few minutes afterwards. The nice thing about a firing squad is that there aren't any minutes afterwards. I reckoned it'd be a painless death, give or take. And once it was done there'd be no more fighting. I wouldn't have to bury any more friends. I wouldn't have to sit Dad down and explain about Mum.
It's not as if I was looking for an opportunity to die, but I admitted to myself that I wasn't that upset about the prospect of it. Tariq had been wrong, I realised as I walked. I didn't wish for death. I was simply indifferent to it.
We passed through a stone archway out into the cold dawn air. The patch of grass that sat between the walls of the Palace and the edge of Westminster Bridge was almost knee deep in drifted snow. A gaggle of armed men huddled against the wall, smoking cigarettes and gossiping quietly. They fell silent as we processed into the yard.
The man walking with us waved for us to line up against the metal fence, facing Parliament with the river at our left.
We crunched over to the fence and stood there, unsure exactly what to do.
There was an awkward silence as we stood there facing our executioners, who looked everywhere but at us, unwilling to risk meeting our gaze.
'Look at us,' shouted Wilkes after a minute that seemed like an hour. 'Fucking look at us!'
One by one they obeyed, and as they did so I saw their expressions harden, their faces set. These were not the kind of men to have doubts. When it came to the crunch, they were stone cold.
'Lovely day for a shooting,' said Cooper as he strode into the yard. Jane limped behind him, her foot encased in a blue plastic cast. She looked at me and her face crumpled. I'd not seen her cry in so long. I wanted to run to her but I knew I wouldn't get two feet.
'Cooper, please,' she said, choking back tears. 'I'm begging you, don't do this.'
He turned, raised his hand and slapped her hard across the face. She reeled.
'Fucker,' I shouted, stepping forward. A stream of bullets thudded into the snow in front of me and I looked left to see one of the soldiers waving me back to the fence.
'I'll do anything you want,' begged Jane, trailing forlornly after the man who held our lives in his hands.
He stopped when she said that, a terrible smile creeping across his face. He turned back to her again, slowly this time, full of menace.
'And what, exactly, do you think I want from you Kate?'
She stepped forward, her red, tear-stained face contorted into a grotesque parody of pleasing. She reached out and stroked his chest.
'I can be anything you want, Cooper,' she said. 'Anything at all. Just please, don't kill them.'
For the first time that day I actually felt an emotion — pure, burning fury. I bit back my protest and clenched my fists, rooted to the spot.
Cooper reached out a hand and stroked Jane's cheek once, gently. Then he leaned forward as if to kiss her, stopped an inch from her lips and said: 'Just another whore, then.'
He stepped away, turned his back on her and barked an order to his soldier.
'Put her with the men.'
'Sir?' asked the guy who seemed to be second-in-command, surprised by the order.
Quick as lightning, Cooper drew his sidearm and shot the man twice in the chest.
'I said, put her with the others,' he yelled as his lackey toppled backwards into the snow.
Another of his men, eyes wide with alarm at his leader's sudden, shocking loss of composure, stepped forward, grabbed Jane's arm, and dragged her over to us.
She took her place alongside me, facing the firing squad. I reached out my hand and our fingers intertwined and grasped tightly.
She leaned over and tried to whisper something to me, but the huge bell in the tower above us began to chime.
The soldiers began to line up.
The first strike of eight o'clock sounded, sonorous and familiar.
They checked their weapons.
The second chime of the hour.
They all flicked off their safety catches.
Third chime.
Cooper bent down and lifted the machine gun from the corpse of the man he'd just shot.
Fourth chime.
He joined the line of executioners.
Fifth chime.
He flicked off his safety catch.
Sixth chime.
He raised his weapon.
Seventh chime.
