He knew intimately how to work that tricky lock, to trigger the automatic screens, to press that little green button at the foot of the side door to give him his ticket to freedom.

He knew the layout of the cafe, the entry points, the hallways, the doors his captor might not know about.

But this was his ship. And a captain never leaves his sinking ship, not before the safety of customers and the welfare of staff have been taken care of.

He knew that, believed that.

He wasn’t budging until the last person walked out those jammed automatic glass doors and into the waiting arms of police.

It is this altruism that shines bright from the darkness of the deadly siege at Lindt Café; a compelling chapter, perhaps the first chapter, in a tome of bravery to be penned about 18 courageous hostages and their inherent qualities.

There is John O’Brien’s cleverness, escaping out the side door well before night settled on Martin Place.

There is Joel Herat’s chivalry, shepherding out a pregnant co-worker. Katrina Dawson’s heroics in covering a pregnant friend when all hell broke loose, guns blazing. Louisa Hope’s strength, enduring the exhaustion and humiliation being the gunman’s constant human shield.

Tori Johnson, a leader, a captain of the ship

And Tori Johnson, a leader who sacrificed himself by staying put when five fellow hostages smashed the lock and bolted to freedom.

Because others couldn’t go too. The elderly, the disabled, those within grasp of the madman Man Haron Monis. Stranded.

So he died there, on his floor, executed in cold blood.

The captain of the ship.

Not here to describe in his own words, the 34-year-old’s story is being told by those who shared the horror and witnessed his valour. His employees who counted him as friend and boss.

That was all of them.

After Lindt Café barista Joel Herat had made his escape, bolting down Martin Place to waiting police, he reached into his pocket and plucked out his phone. He dialled Tori. There was no answer.

“(The Lindt team) are all young kids, they are all uni students. For a young lot like this go through something so devastating and to lose someone they work with, they respect, they loved. It’s very very sad.’’

His mother, waiting around the corner at the Supreme Court, later broke the news to him that his boss had been killed.

“Joel was just devastated when he heard about Tori,’’ Roma Herat said.

“He’s not just going through his own situation but he’s grieving for Tori.

It seems every tribute, delivered by a family member of a grieving co-worker, delivers the same line.

They loved him.

Ken Johnson walks down Martin Place for the second time in two days, surveying the colourful spectrum before him, picking through the flowers and reading the personal cards, written by strangers, directed at his boy.

He has brought some friends with him today, not just family members - a Sheik, two Rabbis and a Hindu priest, all coming together in a gesture of peace known as an Indian shanti.

We keep the flow of the beautiful peace thing going, so we can show the rest of the world

He brought the religious leaders together in a show of “solidarity”. To prove that peaceful humanity can work, that good things can eventually flow out or terrible circumstances.

“So we keep the flow of the beautiful peace thing going, so we can show the rest of the world where it starts and I want it to continue,’’ he says.

All the way down Martin Place and beyond, he means. Physically, and metaphorically.

“Keep it rolling, get rid of the cars and put flowers in the street, pave it all the way down to Central that is what I would like, “ he said, proudly.

“My son, his love is immense but his bravery was immeasurable. This is what it is all about, you have to start somewhere and my son created the way, he paved the way. I am just picking up the torch now and running with it. I am just trying to do my best to honour his bravery.”

The genesis of his son’s courage and confidence is suddenly comprehended. It’s genetic.

“We are a good family, a strong family ... our grief is momentary.”

Like Roma Herat, the Johnson family were waiting anxiously in the James St Court complex a block from the Lindt Café in the early hours of Tuesday, agonising over the fate of their son.

The hail of gunfire and grenades that shook the city, echoing of its high-rise buildings, compounded their apprehension.

Across town, the phone rings.

Unexpected phone calls at 4.30am rarely elicit good news.

Lyn Whittaker rolled over in bed and grabbed the phone, startled.

It was Ken Johnson, her brother.

“He said ‘they’ve killed my beautiful boy’ and he couldn’t speak any more,” Mr Johnson’s aunt said.

“The police officer came on and told my husband that Ken couldn’t speak any more and this is what has happened.

“Tori had copped a bullet from this terrorist and he had gone.”

The captain of the ship.