The world had shrunk to the radius of my vision. I had to assume that any attempt to reach out would see my hand severed. Whatever had been written about me in the papers would have multiplied a hundredfold or more online. Searching the web at an internet café was a possibility – but even if I could connect via a VPN, the shop itself would have cameras to watch its customers. Besides, any searches of any value were so specific that, if I was being tracked online, entering the search terms that interested me would be like waving a red flag above the parapet of whatever anonymity I had left. Nothing was certain, but if the people hunting me enlisted the help of French internal security, it would be a matter of hours, not days, before I ended up in the papers again. The DGSI didn’t mess about. And once Interpol got its act together, all of Europe – and beyond – would be on the lookout for me.

Old media: it was the best and only option. Paper and ink were untraceable. I’d grabbed a copy of Le Monde and the international edition of The New York Times from a Relay news-stand and headed out to the bistrot I had in mind, tossing the stolen cap into a rubbish cart as I went.

The waiter returned with the coffee and a glass of water. I grunted my thanks. He grunted his acknowledgement of it. I tried to concentrate on the facts, or what passed for them on an operation this messed up.

I didn’t know if Frank was – or ever had been – managing the Connor job solo, as he’d let me believe, or if instead he’d been working with Whitehall and Vauxhall Cross all along. I didn’t know if General King – Director Special Forces – was involved or not. I didn’t know if Jack Nazzar had let me get away because he wanted to, or because he’d been ordered to. And I sure as hell didn’t know how the Russians – if they were Russians – fitted into the picture, or how they’d found me in Mayo. They’d done their damnedest not to kill me, despite every opportunity to do so.

I didn’t know why Frank had ordered the hit, or if it was definitely Chappie Connor, and not me, he’d hoped to eliminate. But it didn’t take faith in archangels to see that I, personally, was of interest to someone – and not in a good way: I’d been ambushed, and then tracked and kidnapped.