The line went dead. I handed the phone back to my interlocutor.

‘How exactly did Rachel go missing?’

‘She vanished.’ Talia took the phone from me and our fingers touched briefly. ‘Exactly.’

‘But I called the faculty,’ I said, ‘and there was a newspaper report. She was quoted by Haaretz three days ago.’ As soon as I’d said it, I realized how naive I sounded. Her face remained impassive. ‘Ah,’ the penny dropped. ‘That was you, wasn’t it?’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘I’m guessing that was an Israeli in Paris, too. He cut quite a dash in that police uniform. I’m sorry about that.’

‘If you say so.’

‘Or maybe Mossad went for the AKs and keffiyehs, so you could blame it on your neighbours?’

‘What the other departments do,’ she said, tilting her head, ‘or who they get to do it, is their affair.’

We sat in silence – breathing in the grey smoke, wondering if, when, to breathe out secrets. I counted a full minute and stubbed out the Marlboro in the heavy glass ashtray between us.

‘Well, this is awkward.’

‘But forgivable. You would not be the first operator to get in trouble for, uh, personal reasons. It happens.’

‘Oh, no,’ I said. ‘It’s not awkward for me. Not at all. Unfortunate, maybe. But not awkward.’ I drew another cigarette from the pack. ‘For you, though, this is a Grade A disaster.’ I tore another match free of the little booklet, folded the yellow cover back on itself, pinched the matchhead between the cardboard and the striker and withdrew it smartly. It flared at my fingertips. ‘A top Israeli scientist goes missing. Her father is assassinated. And the Shabak, the “Invisible Shield”, the defender of the nation, is reduced to fishing, casting clickbait blind into the media?’ I lit the tobacco, pulled down the smoke, and dropped the still-burning match into the ashtray. ‘And all you’ve managed to catch is one pissed-off Paddy. That’s awkward. No?’

She drew her lips tight across her teeth and then lit another cigarette herself.

‘I thought you were the fisherman, Mr McLean,’ she replied through the haze of smoke, ‘with the hundred-dollar hook?’ I shrugged. ‘Lo,’ she waved her hand in front of her – dispersing both the smoke, and with it any suggestion the Israelis might be compromised. ‘Lo. What is, uh, awkward, is that the day before Professor Levy disappeared she sent her colleague – her closest, most trusted colleague – on an errand.’ She paused to gauge my reaction. ‘A routine errand that took him from Tel Aviv to Russia. But then, and most definitely on a forged passport, he travelled from Russia to the United Kingdom, where he arrived on the thirtieth of December.’

‘Is that a fact?’ I smiled at her. ‘But really, now, wouldn’t you say that was also your problem?’