He had, however, set about it in the very thorough manner that was typical of him, and, treading hard on the toes of MI6, as he liked to do, had embarked upon a massively ambitious programme to infiltrate all the key terrorist organizations of the world. Donald Frome had managed to penetrate the Marzoc camp – the Eton of Colonel Quadhafi’s terrorist training schools – and had been sending back immensely valuable information for several months. It was not good news that he was in trouble, not for us or him, and I felt damn sorry for the poor bastard. I walked around to the front of the dismal grey slab of a hotel and marched in through a revolving door.

There was nothing inside to lift the gloom: a bank of shops selling cigarettes, confectionery, newspapers and Braemar sweaters looked very empty, with sales staff standing to unenthusiastic attention, and a few hotel staff in their differing grades of uniform milled around with only the vaguest semblance of being active.

I went up some stairs, along a corridor past a battery of show-cases, and into the men’s room. It was empty. I ran a tap to look busy, but almost immediately, the door opened, and an Arab, in a dirty white jellaba and brown sandals, hurried in. I put him at about thirty-five. He stared at me, several times in succession, with tiny frightened eyes. He was short and very thin, and spoke in quick bursts, without bothering to check my identity.

‘Please – in there, in there – we must not be seen.’ He flapped his hands towards the cubicles; at the same time he went over to the entrance door and jammed a silver coin underneath it – to make a scraping noise if anyone should come in. He ushered me into a cubicle and went into the adjacent one. I took down my trousers, so that if anyone did come in and looked underneath the door, they would see nothing unusual, and sat on the seat.

‘Thank you for come, thank you,’ said the Arab.

‘That’s all right, my friend.’

‘I be quick.’

‘Take your time.’

‘Donald Frome in – very bad – I think now he dead.’

‘What happened?’

‘He is caught – somehow – I don’t know how – someone find out. He give me message to bring you – he write down – I am too frightened – I read and then burn; he tell me it is very important I must give you message – it is difficult – I no speak much good the English.’

‘You’re doing fine.’

‘I try to read – it not easy – I have not anyone to ask for help. He say Operation Angel. Most important. Operation Angel. Many countries. Very bad. Nuclear power stations – they will blow up – many—’

‘Who will?’

The silver coin screeched across the marble floor. There was a flat clacking of footsteps across the floor; it was the clacking of a pair of sandals. A whispered voice said, ‘Ahmed?’