The apartment was smaller and dingier than the safehouse, and smelled strongly of mildew mixed with the smoke from the grill stall wafting in the open window. Its lone occupant was a small, wiry Afghan with the usual long black beard and baggy tunic, standing in the middle of the floor as though he’d been looking for something and not been expecting visitors. Ben noticed that he was wearing white high-top trainers. He had twitchy eyes and a nervous, suspicious expression on his face as he turned to stare at the nine men who’d just walked into the apartment.

‘Faazel?’ Buchanan asked in a low voice, but Goffin shook his head.

The little guy in the white trainers backed away a few steps. Ben thought he looked ready to kick up a fuss. So much for the reliable informer Goffin had been so sure of meeting here.

‘Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay,’ Goffin said in Dari, smiling and spreading his open hands to show he wasn’t a threat. ‘We’re friends of Faazel. He said he was going to meet me here. You know where he is?’

The guy in the white trainers backed away another step, close to the far wall.

‘It’s cool,’ Goffin said, in Pashto this time. ‘My name’s Yousuf. No trouble, okay? Yousuf, Faazel’s cousin.’

Which didn’t quite seem to account for the eight serious-faced, hard-looking foreign men Faazel’s cousin had brought with him. Whatever the case, Goffin’s reassurances only seemed to get the little guy more and more nervy. His right hand went behind the small of his back. Goffin held up his palms and said, ‘Hey. Hey. Take it easy. Keep your hands in plain sight, okay?’

Buchanan was frowning. Ben didn’t like it either. He could see what was about to unfold, several seconds before it happened.

By now the little guy was right up against the corner and could back away no further without going out of the open window to his right. He still hadn’t spoken a word. His eyes were bulging and sweat was glistening on his brow. Then his right hand suddenly whipped out from behind the small of his back, clutching a chunky, shiny black US military-issue Beretta.

Ben had known. He’d even guessed what kind of pistol it was going to be. Because it went with those white high-top trainers, like peaches and cream.