Did it mean that Blackstone was paranoid to be obsessing about the Federation? Had he transferred his irrational resentments and fears from James Kipper to Morales? Was that something she’d have to factor into her mission? Playing to the man’s neuroses could be a fast track into his trusted circle. Or it could make her look like she was patronising him.

After covering a couple of blocks around the old city office building and memorising the terrain, Caitlin turned around and headed back to the hotel. There were a few people out walking the streets, now that the weather had cleared up slightly. There was hardly a wealth of things to do in Temple, Texas, and she imagined that one could quickly go nuts cooped up in the Kyle. She wondered if the junior members of the mission were subjected to the same level of harassment as Musso had described. If so, it would certainly discourage them from heading over to Fort Hood during their down time, even though the recreational facilities out that way had to be so much better.

As she reached the corner of the block on which the hotel stood, she caught the eye of a man out walking by himself. He was thin, with a heavy black moustache, and seemly tightly wrapped up in himself, dressed in plain clothes, but with a soldier’s bearing and appearance, and something more with it.

‘Hello. Excuse me,’ she said as they drew level. ‘I just got into town. I was wondering if there was anywhere to eat besides the hotel?’

The man smiled and nodded, a strangely formal gesture. When he spoke, it was with a thick Polish accent.

‘I am afraid, madam, no there is not. It is a pity and inexplicable to me, Fryderyk Milosz, once of Polish GROM, now of US Army Rangers. When I accepted transfer here to be closer to brother’s family, who come to farm in the Federal Mandate, I did so on promise of posting where nothing happens and only danger I, Milosz, would face would be risk of growing dangerously fat on excellent barbecue foods.’

Caitlin opened her mouth, but he forged on. Apparently Fryderyk Milosz, once of Polish GROM, now of US Army Rangers, had a lot to get off his chest.

‘I fought with the pirate arsewits in New York, madam, and despite their best efforts, I survive, thanks to excellent GROM training and intervention of two crooked smugglers, who save Milosz from arsewits but not from disappointment which is another story, unrelated to immediate disappointment of barbecue. A quiet posting and too much barbecue, is that too much to ask? I fight for this country, now all I wish is pulled pork roll. Yes. Apparently it is too much. And so now I am deranged with hunger and disappointment. So much that I have neglected my manners. I am Master Sergeant Fryderyk Milosz, once of Polish GROM. And you are?’