Gareth held up his hands. ‘Fair cop again. If I had it would have become an agent case, which would have needed clearance from the Foreign Office, Number Ten and God Almighty. Imagine it: a submission to recruit, pay and run an EU official during the most sensitive negotiations we’re ever likely to conduct. And imagine the political fallout if it ever came out. It wouldn’t have stood a cat in hell’s chance, no point in even asking. So I reckoned that so long as I kept up the expenses fiction, claiming as if for myself and pretending it was just two old friends getting together for a routine diplomatic exchange, it wouldn’t put Timber Wolf, you or HMG in a fantastically difficult position. Less said the better, in other words. Wouldn’t be the first time you and I have played that one, would it?’

This time it was Charles who paused. Maintaining such a fiction with an agent who wouldn’t want to be confronted with the truth was one thing, but keeping it from the Office was quite another. Gareth was right that the need for clearance could sometimes be navigated around, but not in this case, nor on this subject. For some seconds the dignified ticking of Cumming’s clock filled the room. It was a clock that ran true. ‘We must go for clearance, retrospective clearance,’ he said. ‘We must have the prime minister and foreign secretary signed up for it. Otherwise it’s not just my head on the line, it’s the Service itself.’

‘Well, that’s the end of the case. They’ll never agree. Why not carry on as we are? If no one’s confronted with what we’re doing, no harm done. Timber Wolf’s happy to chat, we’re happy to listen, Whitehall’s happy to read the product. Everybody’s happy, just so long as it’s not spelt out. Spying – successful spying – makes the world a happier place for everyone. You’ve said it yourself.’ Gareth was smiling again now but there was a petulant edge to his voice.