The rain had stopped and Charles walked back to the British embassy through busy wet streets. He needed to walk in order to absorb his disappointment. Despite Gareth’s infidelities – the current mistress was by no means the first – and his exaggeration of intelligence, he had thought him honest where the Service was concerned, that a line could be drawn between the personal and the professional. Exaggeration was one thing, emblematic of self-promotion and a desire for results; calling Timber Wolf’s salary expenses was reprimandable but understandable in terms of his fear that the case might otherwise be closed down; but fiddling the payments, keeping half for himself, was more serious than personal or petty dishonesty, more serious than culpable stupidity, more serious than the criminality involved. It suggested something congenital. Gareth had no need for the money. He was paid well and should have known that his deceit would come to light one way or another. It was not lack of intellectual capacity or moral awareness, or failure of rational process, or even an excess of greed. It must be an aspect of character, and was therefore indivisible. That meant that the demarcation between the personal and the professional, which Charles had long assumed, was an illusion. He had known two traitors in his career and had been forced to recognise that there was no such demarcation in their lives, but he had still – complacently, it now appeared – assumed it existed in everyone else’s, including his own. Even now he didn’t believe that Gareth was another traitor; but he had the potential become one.

He didn’t trouble the ambassador again when he reached the embassy but went straight up to the SIS station. Following the ambassador’s briefing that morning they had organised a presentation for him in the station, showing they were doing the right things; he had said the right things. Now they were back to normal routines. He commandeered a desk and screen and sent a top-secret, addressee-only email to Sonia, summarising the main points of the lunch and asking her to meet him on return. Then he emailed Jenny, asking her to set up separate meetings the following morning with Robin Woodstock in the Foreign Office and with his own head of security. Jenny reported that the Op Tresco submission was now back with the Foreign Office lawyers.

He was about to leave for the Eurostar, bag in hand, when Sarah rang his mobile. ‘Daniel’s gone missing. I’ve just heard from Anya, who had it from Akela.’

‘When, how long since?’

‘Yesterday morning. He was there when she left to visit her family and when she came back he was gone. He had taken a travelling bag and some clothes. She hasn’t heard from him since.’

‘What about the knife or knives he bought?’

‘I didn’t ask. Anya didn’t mention them.’