‘For which he has already apologised profusely,’ Sarah said as she let Stella out into the back garden.

‘Can you remember anything?’ Knox asked.

‘Shreds again,’ Williams replied, flexing his hands in their bandages.

Knox could see the mix of pain and frustration on Williams’s face as he half-clenched his fists. He didn’t want to be the cause of more, but he also needed to keep probing.

‘Of what?’

‘Voices. Shouting, twisted faces. Fear, anger.’

‘Like you told me yesterday in Smithfield?’

Williams nodded.

‘Could it be something to do with the attack you were trying to warn me about in Regent’s Park?’

Holland and Williams both frowned at Knox’s last question. Holland because he’d made it clear before Knox left last night that he didn’t want Williams pressed too hard on the attack in case his confused mind felt forced to invent an answer to it. And Williams because it looked like he was trying to do just that.

Knox wanted to give his friend one more chance to show that he should be taken seriously. Unfortunately, Williams couldn’t come up with the proof.

‘I can remember the park,’ he said. He smiled briefly, then sighed. ‘But it’s hazy. And the harder I try to focus on it, the blurrier it gets. I’m sorry, old man.’

Now Knox frowned as well.

‘I don’t like this,’ Holland said. ‘I think it would be better and safer for all concerned if Williams was put under secure observation.’

‘We can’t,’ Knox said, almost before Holland had finished.

The director general’s eyebrow lifted a fraction, a sign of surprise and a request for his deputy to explain why he was suddenly arguing against exactly what he’d demanded twelve hours ago.

‘Abey Bennett paid me a visit at home this morning,’ Knox said. ‘The Americans aren’t going to let this drop. We have to get Jack away from the city and out of harm’s way.’

Knox was happy for Holland to think his change of heart was out of a newfound desire to avoid a blow-up with Grosvenor Square that might affect the Kosygin summit or leak to the press before Wilson’s precious election. But it wasn’t. His motivation was the same as it had been since he’d seen Williams sitting on the bench on the Broad Walk, staring glassy-eyed back at him: he had to keep his best friend safe.

‘Should we still consider Miss Bennett a friend of the Service?’ Holland asked.

Knox shook his head. ‘Not at the moment.’

‘And if she or someone else from the CIA follows you?’

‘Then they’ll be out of your hair, and we can lead them on a merry chase.’

‘There are other interested parties.’ Holland was referring to the two dead bodies from Smithfield, which had resisted all attempts at identification overnight.