Then I hung up and called the Soviet Embassy again. It was a different clerk, but much the same message: Third Secretary Grigorieva had not come into the building yet and no, he had no idea when she was due. I left my details again, this time leaving my name, then dressed, reassembled the rifle, and called reception to order a taxi. Part of me wanted to direct it to the embassy, so I could sit and wait for her to turn up, but I knew I couldn’t. There was something else I couldn’t put off: it was time to face Pritchard.

The rain had finally stopped, and the sun was rapidly climbing the sky. It looked as round and yellow and artificial as a child’s drawing up there, but its effect on me as the taxi sped along the main road was real enough: my cheek facing the window felt like a branding iron had been placed on it. The city outside seemed flat and colourless in the glare and the haze, and I felt a little dizzy and nauseous - perhaps the previous night’s activities had taken more of a toll than I’d realized. Luckily, there were few cars on the road, so we arrived at the airport in good time. The driver charged me two Nigerian pounds, despite a sign saying it was a fixed fare of one and ten bob the other way. There were more important arguments to be had, so I paid him.

‘Robert!’ Manning shouted at me as I entered the arrivals terminal. He was keen to rectify his earlier mistake, even if it meant making a few more in the process. He marched towards me, waving away a small collection of flies buzzing around him. He’d traded the nightwear for a khaki linen suit and deck shoes - it made him look only slightly more trustworthy.

I asked him if Pritchard had landed yet, and he shook his head. ‘Some sort of a hitch in Madrid, apparently.’ He dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘Look, Paul, I really think this situation—’

‘Did they say how long the delay was?’ Perhaps there was time to go to the embassy and come back - it wasn’t so far away. Perhaps Pritchard’s flight would have to turn tail to London, and he wouldn’t come out at all.

Manning dashed the thought: ‘An hour at the most.’ He suddenly noticed the case. ‘I do hope that’s not what I think it is.’

It admittedly wasn’t ideal, carrying the thing around in the airport, but it wasn’t safe leaving it at the hotel either. I wasn’t in the mood for a lecture on tradecraft from Manning.