‘I was wondering when you’d get to that,’ I said. ‘I told you before I’m not a spy.’

‘No?’ he said. ‘Do not play games with me, Kane.’ I didn’t like that - I’d been getting used to the ‘Mister’ bit. ‘I am not buying the act.’ His voice was now tinged with that familiar sharp edge. ‘You are not an innocent journalist. You are a British spy, and you are in Nigeria to disrupt Russian involvement in this war.’

‘That’s absurd,’ I said. It was, really.

‘Is it?’ He let the words hang in the air for a moment, and we locked eyes: his were openly triumphant. ‘Do you deny that you have been monitoring our arms supplies?’

‘What arms supplies?’

‘The crates in the aeroplane you flew here on, Mister Kane. They contained weapons provided to us by the Soviets - as you well know.’

‘How the hell would I know that?’

‘They were all clearly marked with Russian identification. And Captain Alele has confirmed to me that you and he had a conversation in the rear of the craft . . .’

‘At his request!’ I said. ‘He wanted me to interview him!’

‘Come, come. Do you expect me to believe that if a trained British operative wants to investigate the hold of a plane, he cannot present himself to a junior officer in a certain way so as to ensure he gains the access he seeks?’

‘Look,’ I said. ‘It’s clear we’ve got off to a bad start. You didn’t like me when you met me in Lagos and it’s a shame we’ve run into each other again, because you seem determined to see my actions in the worst possible—’

Alebayo had one hand in front of his mouth, and it took me a moment to realize that he was quietly chuckling to himself.