Twelve hours previously I had rushed home to the flat to collect the Kane passport from the safe and then taken a cab to Heathrow - only for the flight to be delayed. My frustration had been slightly mollified by discovering the latest issue of Newsweek at a stand in the departure hall. As well as the dozen or so pages covering the trials of the Robert Kennedy and Martin Luther King assassins, there was an in-depth article on the civil war in Nigeria, including an interview with Ojukwu, the Biafrans’ commander-in-chief. I read through it and Pritchard’s briefing dossier over a cocktail in the airport bar. After committing as much of both documents to memory as I could, I went to the lavatory and spent ten minutes tearing the dossier to shreds and feeding it into the bowl.

The flight itself had been calm, and I had managed to sleep after we had refuelled in Rome. It was now 22.00 local time - the same as in London. But even if Pritchard moved very fast, he wouldn’t be able to arrive until tomorrow morning at the earliest. My departure would almost certainly have prompted another meeting, which would mean more tea and banter until they reached a decision on how to proceed. He would already be inoculated against yellow fever and smallpox, so he wouldn’t need to forge the documents as I’d done, but he would still have to complete his B-200, get it stamped and cleared - another meeting to debate what the procedure for that was in the absence of Chief and before the acting Chief had had his position confirmed - and then have his diplomatic cover arranged, flight booked by the secretariat, and so on. My flight was the last to arrive tonight, so I reckoned I had at least until dawn to try to swing things in my favour.

Before anything else, I had to get to Slavin and find out what more he knew, and how he knew it. The obvious move would be to track him down as soon as I got out of the airport, and kill him. But murder was a last resort: his death or disappearance would automatically bring me under suspicion with London, as I had run out here without asking their permission. There was also the question of Anna - I wanted to find her, too, and that would be much harder if Pritchard were actively hunting my hide.

The arrivals terminal was heavy with sweat and frustration. A solitary fan turned high above us at an agonizing pace, while passengers stood around an unmanned desk waiting for their luggage to be brought from the plane. Thankfully, I just had my one bag, so I walked straight through to the passport control area.