He laughed again. ‘The PM’s visit, you mean? Nobody’s flogging that one. Unless you can give me a clue—’

‘I’ve got everything else,’ I said, trying to keep the desperation from my voice. ‘I just need you to have me listed with the Nigerians that I’m one of yours - in case nobody buys my press pass, you see.’

‘Robert Kane?’

It was the pseudonym we’d used for several stories I had sent his way. I’d had the documents made up months ago, as I did for all my cover names - now I was going to have to bring ‘Kane’ to life.

A sudden noise erupted in the background - the grinding of a machine. ‘Hang on a tick,’ said Dobson. The line went quiet and I chewed my nails. Outside my door, the secretaries chatted about boyfriends and pop stars’ weddings, and further down the corridor Pritchard was in a briefing room, quietly going about making arrangements that might see the end of my days.

‘Sorry about that,’ said Dobson when he came back on the line. ‘Bit of a balls-up on the press.’ He took a deep breath, and I took it with him. ‘All right, mate, I’ll give it a go. For old times, as they say.’ It was good of him - we didn’t have any old times to speak of, unless you counted a few furtive meetings in the back room of the City Golf Club. I wanted to kiss him. ‘All being well, I should be able to have you on the list by the end of the week.’

The kiss could wait.

‘Can’t you make it sooner?’

‘Bloody hell!’ he laughed. ‘Give you lot an inch, you want a flipping hectare. Come on, then - let me have it. When were you planning on getting into Lagos?’

‘Tonight,’ I said.

V

V

Monday, 24 March 1969, Lagos, Nigeria

The heat hit me as soon I stepped onto the ladder - it was like someone throwing one of the airline’s hot towels over my face. I walked towards the terminal building, shimmering in the evening haze. Along the tarmac, a large group of soldiers was silently unloading crates of ammunition.