‘The Federal Center down in Temple,’ he said. ‘Talk me through what kind of assets we have down there, Mr Director.’

*

‘Really. This is fascinating, and not at all creepy,’ Caitlin continued. ‘But really off topic. You asked what I hoped to achieve? I want to know what the fuck went wrong in New York.’

Blackstone shifted uncomfortably in his chair and shot a glance over at McCutcheon, before trying to cover up his loss of self-control with bombast.

‘What happened in New York, young lady,’ he said in a lecturing tone, ‘is that President Kipper learned a harsh lesson in the realities of life. He had been running down the defences of this country, selling off some of our finest assets in the worst sort of dime-store auctions, and in New York the chickens came home to roost.’

Caitlin stared at him for two seconds. Long enough for him to squirm.

‘Sweet suffering disco Jesus,’ she said. ‘Could you be any more patronising or clichéd?’

Blackstone bristled but had no chance to reply before she spoke again.

‘Your administration signed a salvage contract with a Turkish shipping company controlled by a man called Ahmet Ozal. Save the bluster. If I didn’t already know that, we wouldn’t be here. The contract wasn’t notarised in America. But I did obtain a copy in Europe. Ozal provided ships to transport jihadi fighters across the Atlantic and into New York. He was also responsible for springing Bilal Baumer from a French prison cell in Guadeloupe, where he’d been rotting away quite nicely, thank you very much.’

‘Stuff and nonsense,’ protested Blackstone.

‘No, it’s history, Jack,’ she said. ‘And so are you, unless there’s a good reason you took it upon yourself to commit treason.’

She was ready for him this time when he exploded.

‘IT WAS NOT TREASON!’

‘Governor . . .’ McCutcheon warned.

‘The hell with her,’ snapped Blackstone, his cheeks turning bright red. ‘I will not be traduced in my own house. I will not have my patriotism questioned by the likes of this mercenary whore.’

‘Good for you, big guy,’ she said. ‘So, the jihadi nutjobs you paid twenty-five million dollars to invade America and kill a couple of thousand of your fellow citizens while, incidentally, making one hell of a mess of midtown Manhattan – what was up with that again?’

‘I am sure the Governor will tell you it was all a horrible mistake. It wasn’t meant to turn out that way. And he would be right in that . . .’

Caitlin’s face distorted into a rictus of animalistic rage as she spun around to confront a new presence in the room.