A young woman, maybe thirty – Jed was increasingly thinking of people in their thirties as young. Her features struck him as handsome rather than pretty. She wasn’t masculine but all the lines and planes of her face seemed very cut and angular, like an athlete who had stripped their body fat back to a single-figure percentage. He was aware of his own very generous belly pulling at the buttons of his waistcoat. He hated himself for doing it, but before he could stop himself, he’d tried to suck in his stomach.

‘Ms Monroe,’ he said, nodding as she looked up from the table, where she’d been reading through a sheaf of papers. Most normal people, he imagined, would’ve been drawn to the view outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. Downtown Vancouver stretched away to the river and the North Shore Mountains in the distance and sparkled under a fierce winter sun. Monroe appeared to have drawn a curtain specifically to block the vista, or more likely to block any view from the outside, even though he knew the glass had been treated with a film that turned it into a mirror when viewed from the street.

Special Agent Monroe stood up, but waited for Culver to move towards her and extend his hand. Her grip was strong, but it was the rough, calloused texture of her palm that he noticed. It felt like he was shaking hands with a violinist whose second job was bricklaying.

‘Mr Culver,’ she said. Her voice put him right back inside the conversation she’d had with Kip as she flew into the Battle of New York, looking for Baumer. She’d been dressed in black combat coveralls and shouting over the roar of a C-130. She had been angry too, he recalled. Dangerously angry. In person, her voice was quite soft and she spoke with a distant, ironic tone that made him feel as though he’d already been judged.

‘How’s your family, Ms Monroe? Bret and . . . Monique, isn’t it?’

‘Do you care?’ she asked flatly.

‘Caitlin . . .’ growled Wales Larrison.

The assassin sketched a lopsided grin that went nowhere near softening her features.

‘I was just wondering.’

‘I’m sorry, Mr Culver,’ said Larrison, frowning at his senior student. ‘Agent Monroe can be unusually and unjustifiably difficult at times.’

Jed blew them both off. His smile was genuine. The ‘you got me’ grin of an old-time grifter caught out by his mark.

‘No. It’s fair enough, Larrison. Like I give a fuck about her family. We all know I read the briefing sheet before coming over here, to give me some personal stake to play when we met. I care about Ms Monroe’s personal affairs as much as she cares about mine, no doubt – minimally, and only so much as it impacts on our business. So, Ms Monroe, how is your family? Are they safe?’