“Spenser, Joyce and Chisholm. That’s three left.”

“I’m assuming we still don’t know where Connor English and Control are hiding?”

“With Manage Risk. That’s obvious. But the company has powerful friends, and they are being protected, Control especially. He could be anywhere in the world. She might need to find him herself.”

“She will,” Pope said.

He was certain about that.

Chapter Five

She opened the door with the sign that said “La Villa des Orangers” just after eight o’clock. The medina was noisy and clamorous, but when she closed the oak door behind her, it was as if she had been transported into a peaceful idyll. Here, instead of raised voices and the angry horns of cars and vans, she could hear the tinkling of water into the fountain and the sound of meat sizzling on a grill. She dropped her bag and slumped into one of the chairs that overlooked the pool. She let her head hang back and looked up. Her home here was a riad, a traditional Moroccan house with an interior garden. The four walls of the structure made a square of the darkening sky, now shot through with a dozen different colours in the dying sun’s last grand gesture. The stone retained the cool, and she closed her eyes and was almost on the point of sleep when she felt eyes upon her.

“Mummy.”

She opened her eyes. Her thirteen-year-old daughter, Isabella, was standing between her and the pool.

“Hello, sweetheart. How are you?”

“I’m fine, Mummy. You look tired.”

“I am.”

“Did you do it?”

“Yes. I did it.”

“How?”

“With a bomb.”

The girl slipped off her sandals and sat down by her side, dipping her dusty feet in the cool blue water.

“Good. Did you speak to her?”

“Yes.”

“So she knew it was you?”

“She did.”

“Good.”

“I know where the next one is, too. He’s in Iraq.”

“When are you going?”

“Soon. Two days.”

“You can’t stay longer?”

“I wish I could, but the information won’t be good forever, and he probably knows I’m coming now. The longer I wait, the more time he’ll have to prepare. That will mean it is more dangerous.”

“I understand, Mummy. It’s just . . .”

“I know. But once this is done, we’ll be safe. And we can be together all the time.”

They sat quietly for a moment. The only sounds were the music of the fountain and her feet splashing in the water.

“I’ve been practising,” she said. “Five hours every day. Ask Mohammed.”

“I believe you.”

“He says I’m getting better and better.”

“That’s good, sweetheart. I have something for you. Something else for you to try.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a surprise. It’s being delivered tomorrow.”

Isabella went to bed, and Beatrix was about to follow her example when Mohammed came out of the kitchen with a silver salver on which rested a teapot and two clear glasses. He set the tray on the table and hugged her.