‘No, Jed,’ said Kipper. ‘It doesn’t.’ The President pushed away the better part of his breakfast, uneaten, before continuing. ‘I don’t much like what Agent Monroe does in the name of this country, what she represents about us, or at least the way we used to do things. I can accept that she herself is a dedicated servant of the people, and I’m happy to acknowledge the sacrifices she’s made and the dangers she has faced in that service. What she did in New York, or tried to do, was outstanding. But she is the wrong person for this job. The wrong tool.’

Culver’s spirits flagged a bit at that. When Kip got going on the engineering metaphors, it usually meant he’d made up his mind, or was very close to getting there. His tone grew ever more sarcastic as he spoke.

‘I mean, where is this Lupérico she talks about in her report? This guy running Sarkozy’s secret dungeon. Oh, that’s right – she blew his brains out in the jungle. No chance for anybody to verify his information, not to mention the illegality, the basic . . . wrongness of an extrajudicial execution. And make no mistake, that’s what happened. She flew into a sovereign country, committed an act of war, kidnapped a man, tortured him for all we know, and then executed him. What part of that process are you comfortable with, Jed? Because it sickens me from start to finish, and if I’d had any say in the matter, it simply wouldn’t have happened. I’m furious that it did, even if responsibility for the murder can’t be laid directly back on us. Calling it an Echelon operation and saying it had nothing to do with us, it’s just . . . it’s weasel words, that’s what it is. And we won’t be doing it again.’

His face had become flushed with anger, and when he finished speaking he smacked his desk with an open hand to emphasise the point. Jed struggled manfully to restrain his own rising anger. He knew that getting into a fight with Kipper would serve no purpose.