‘But, of course,’ he said, desperately searching his memory and finally coming up with a face to put to the name she had given him. Baumer. It had been so long ago, and that had been a different life. He nodded vigorously, wanting her to know he could help. He was useful. ‘Yes, we had more after the intifada. I think I recall your German now. He was young, and very much assimilated into western culture. Not like most of the crazies we took in around then.’

‘Do you recall the circumstances of his release?’

Lupérico could not help himself. This could be dangerous ground. He averted his gaze, staring instead into the brush, as though his memories might lie in there.

‘Well, as I said, we had a number, a large number, of renditions pass through in those days. I am afraid I do not recall the details attending each of them. They were not really my responsibility. I was a processor, not an . . . end user – is that the term? And also, I’m afraid that part of my life . . . it was a long time ago. Much has happened, and I am no longer working in the service of the French state. As you can see, I have been abandoned.’

If he had hoped for a flicker of sympathy, he was disappointed. The woman’s eyes seemed as cold and fathomless as a frozen lake.

‘Think hard, Lupérico. You may not survive the wrong answer. Was Baumer’s release authorised by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in Paris, or did you release him on your own authority?’

Lupérico had been thirsty before, but he now found that his mouth was unnaturally dry. There could be no doubt that he was in great peril. His tongue rasped against the back of his teeth, sticking there. His heartbeat, previously thready and uncertain, seemed to have slowed down considerably, as though every contraction was struggling hard to pump double the normal volume of blood.

‘Understand me,’ said the woman. ‘I do not care what scams or shakedown rackets you had going in Guadeloupe at the end. I know how things fell apart. They fell apart everywhere. I don’t need contrition or evasion from you, I need information. Why did you release Bilal Baumer?’

She did nothing as crude or obvious as turning her gun on him, but everything about the American and her lethal demeanour spoke to Lupérico of the gravest consequences if he didn’t tell her what she wanted to hear. He shook his head involuntarily, as if arguing with himself.

‘You are right, of course. Everything was falling apart. Once the intifada began, the guerre civile, the colonies were very quickly cut off. We had no –’

‘I’m not interested in a history lesson on the manifest inadequacies of the French state,’ she interrupted. ‘You are obviously getting to Baumer. Just take the direct route and save us some time.’