‘Did you see the condition they were in?’

The silly bitch seemed to have forgotten we were in the middle of a war. It was bad news - if she tried to take Alebayo on, she’d really put the cat among the pigeons.

‘Alebayo hates the world’s press,’ I told her. ‘In fact, he hates anything that smacks of interference by the West. If you want to help the Biafrans, and yourself, you would do well to remember that.’

We listened to the football results in sullen silence for a few minutes. Finally, the familiar notes of ‘Lilliburlero’ whistled merrily into the room, and I turned it down slightly so we could listen to the bulletin more comfortably. Pakistan had a new president, there was fierce fighting in southern Vietnam, and John Lennon and his new wife were staging a protest in bed in Amsterdam. No mention of Nigeria or the British prime minister. I wondered where Pritchard was - probably a deal closer to Anna than I was.

‘That was about your operation, wasn’t it?’ said Isabelle when the report had finished and I’d turned the volume back up. ‘There was a coded message in one of the items!’

I shook my head. ‘We don’t do that any more.’

‘What, then?’ she said. ‘You might as well tell me now.’

‘The less you know, the better.’

It was a shame to have to treat her like a child, but she had a glint in her eye and it was worrying me. She was notching it all up for her exclusive report from the Biafran front, where she had been imprisoned in a bugged room with a British secret agent on a mysterious mission. It would make thrilling reading at breakfast tables across France - if we got out of here in one piece.

We listened to the radio for a while longer, and she cadged another of my cigarettes. I went over the story with her one more time, and then the door opened and Scarface marched in.

‘Move,’ he said, gesturing with his sub-machine gun.