“I took a risk and I don’t want you exposed to the consequences. You might be called in to answer some questions very soon. About me. If they ask what you’ve been working on you don’t need to mention Ventriloquist.”

“I didn’t come here to duck and run at the first sign of trouble.”

“There’s a difference between a challenge and a fuckup. There are moments for heroism—this isn’t one of them. Trust me.”

“And you won’t read me into what’s happened?”

“No.”

He stared out toward the river.

“Do you think I don’t fit in here?”

“Do you want to fit in here?”

“Yes.”

“I think you fit in fine. You’ve been incredible over the last year. I want you to stay in the service, that’s the point.”

“If you’re in trouble, Kat, let me help.”

It made her smile.

“You’ve been through some things in your life,” she said, after a moment, carefully.

“Have I?”

“I’m not asking you to talk about personal stuff. I’m saying, I admire you. The fortitude. It will see you well.”

“Thanks.”

“How did you get through it? The tough times?”

Now it was Kudus’s turn to consider. He turned the bottle of lemonade on the table, picking at the label.

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“I guess not.”

“That was how it felt. I had to keep going or it would have all been for nothing.”

“That’s the worst, isn’t it,” Taylor said. “That things might be for nothing.”

“Yes.”

Both watched the river and the floodlit Houses of Parliament, floating amid the darkness like a hallucination.

“I’m out of here,” Taylor said. “Out of Vauxhall Cross, I think. I’m going to assign you to the Argentine oil exploration job. Clive has the file. Give it a read. Let’s say you’ve been working on it for the last couple of weeks. Okay? This is serious. This is how the service works. We’re dominos: I fall, you fall.”

“I think I could help if you told me,” he said.

“I’m sure you could.”

He met her eyes a final time, as if they might contain a more promising message, and when he didn’t see one, he got up.

“If there’s nothing more I can do, good night, Kat.” He walked away. Taylor finished her soda, went back to the office, looked at the Russell Square address. She had a sensation of cold clarity that was familiar; it was the feeling when she was about to drink. To dive into her self-­destruction. The sense of a decision being taken on her behalf.

19

Russell Square looked elegant in the darkening evening. The street lamps had come on but the air was mild, and students and tourists hurried along the pavements. Taylor found the address.