‘Hello, Paul. I hope this is good.’

He was irritated at being called out to an emergency meeting: he’d grown accustomed to routine, as had I, and had started to believe he had a right to lead a normal life.

I pushed the barrel of the Luger into his thigh.

‘Not here,’ I said. ‘Not enough cover.’

He quickly shuffled his stamps together, left some money on the table, and followed me out to the car.

The streets were mainly one-way, and there were long gaps between the lamps. But I knew where I was going. I circled round the back of the restaurant and found the Horseferry Road turning.

I looked across at him. He wasn’t doing a good job of hiding his fear: he couldn’t keep his eyes still and rivulets of sweat licked his forehead. I put the gun away. I didn’t want him to give the answers he thought I was looking for - I’d had enough of that.

‘What happened?’ he said.

‘Radnya.’

It was the name Moscow had known me by for over twenty years, the name he had sat and encoded after every one of our meetings. The name I hadn’t known before tonight.

He swore in Russian.

‘Who?’ he said. ‘How?’

Who had betrayed me? How had I learned of their betrayal?

‘Anna.’ It answered both questions.

This time I got a different reaction: shock, and a seemingly overwhelming sadness. Apparently I’d underestimated his emotional range.

‘I think you should explain,’ he said, which was lovely. I composed myself as I dipped the headlights for an oncoming car.

‘How long have you known she was alive?’

He looked down. Always, then.

‘I never lied to you, Paul. You must—’

‘Don’t Paul me,’ I said, and I felt the anger rise. ‘No, you never lied, old friend. Just omitted a few things.’

‘You’re forgetting,’ he said, and his voice wavered as I took a corner at high speed. ‘We are both only pawns in this game.’

That made me laugh. My life falling apart, and he was feeding me B-film lines. Judging by the expression on his face, I was sounding a touch hysterical, so I carried on, out of spite. I felt sorry for him, too, of course: his longest-serving agent losing his nerve so spectacularly. But there it was - the taste of betrayal fresh in my mouth, and I felt sick with it and desperate to lash out. Perhaps I would use the gun again tonight. He deserved to die more than Chief. He had known of the plot - he had not only failed to tell me about it, but had continued to feed it to me.