“He didn’t say very much. I knew something had happened, but it’s not like what I’m used to. There’s no banter. I haven’t even met any of the other agents.”

“And you won’t, or at least not very often. You work alone most of the time.”

The waiter appeared with their menus. There was an ex-pat in the kitchen, but he was hamstrung by the selection of ingredients that were available to him. They ordered steak and chips, and when the food came, Beatrix found she was very hungry.

She set about her steak. “I need equipment,” she said between mouthfuls.

“The Group has a quartermaster operating out of Basra. He’ll get you whatever you need. We’ll go first thing tomorrow.”

“And then?”

“I thought we could take a drive out to Rumaila. Take a look around.”

They ate in silence for a moment.

“Do you want to tell me what your plan is?” he asked her.

“What do you want to know?”

“I don’t even know exactly what you’re here to do.”

“Two things.”

“I know what I’m here to do: get Mackenzie West out of Iraq.”

“That’s the first thing. What do you know?”

“Just what Pope told me: that he wants to go public about the way Manage Risk are behaving with the locals. And that we want him to do that so he can cause them a headache.”

“That’s right.”

“But that’s Pope’s agenda, isn’t it? The government’s? What are you here for? The second thing?”

“The vermin problem.”

“There’s a rat here?”

She nodded. “A particularly nasty one. A man who works for Manage Risk. Bryan Duffy. He and I have unfinished business. I need to be alone with him for five minutes.”

“The kind of meeting where two people go in and one person comes out?”

“You’ve got the idea.”

“Alright, then. That’s all I need to know.”

“You’ve got no problem with that?”

“I wouldn’t be in the Group if I did, would I?”

“No,” Beatrix said. “You wouldn’t.”

Let’s see, she thought. Let’s see if you still feel that way when it’s time.

“Which order do you want to go after them?”

“I don’t think it makes much difference. Duffy knows I’m coming.”

“So what’s first?”

“Let’s have a look around tomorrow. I might get an idea.”

They had a drink after their meal, and then Beatrix excused herself and said that she needed to rest. Faulkner stayed at the table, finishing his beer. He paid the check, stood and, making sure that she had gone up to her room and wasn’t waiting in reception, went outside to the parking lot. He got into his Freelander and drove the short distance into downtown Basra.

He parked on the Corniche al-Basra, near the Lion of Babylon square. The area was busy with people, and traffic rolled alongside, impatient horns sounding. The buildings nearby were pocked with bullet holes, and there were deep, untidy piles of rubble all about. The street lamps overhead flickered on and off, casting intermittent puddles of light down onto the sidewalk.