The scheduled time was shortly after midnight, and the location was an address in the commune of Villejuif, a few kilometres south of the city. After a long, frustrating day of waiting, Ben and Roth rolled up to the scene with plenty of time to spare and found a parking space sixty metres down the street where they could observe the action.

The directions provided by Roth’s mysterious contact had led them to a quiet suburban street where apartment buildings were interspersed with older red-brick houses and gardens, some in a better state of maintenance than others. Like every other modern urban setting, most walls and shutters were plastered with graffiti, and the pavements were littered. The flicker of TVs showed behind curtained windows and the soft boom-boom of music sounded from somewhere.

‘Villejuif,’ Roth muttered, shaking his head. ‘Jew Town. Might have been true once, but now the Muslims are driving them all out. Over fifty thousand Jewish people have fled France to the States or Israel in just a few years under threat of persecution. It’s the new Nazism, the one nobody wants to admit it’s even happening. You know the Islamics had their own SS divisions in World War Two, to carry out genocide against the Jews in Croatia, right? Himmler loved ’em.’

Ben was in no mood for another of Roth’s history lectures and said nothing, watching the street. He still couldn’t believe that Thierry Chevrolet would have skipped out on him like that. What was the world coming to, if you couldn’t trust an honest crook any more?

A couple of cars passed by. The only pedestrian in sight was a beleaguered-looking old guy being dragged along by a pair of yappy terriers, who shuffled past the parked Alpina without noticing the two men inside and disappeared around the corner. Then the street was deserted, but Ben’s instinct told him that the GIGN assault team was somewhere close by, biding their time until the last moment.

The target of that evening’s raid was a small one-storey end-of-terrace house next door to a pharmacy. The property looked like a student rental, belonging to an absentee landlord who cared little about its upkeep. A low stucco wall bounded a neglected garden of foot-high weeds and dying trees. An ancient Puch moped was tethered up on a rusty chain inside the gate. A dim light shone through the dimpled glass of the front door, and another through the crack in a curtained window.

Ben looked at his watch. Three minutes to midnight. The occupants of the house, however many there might be inside, had no more idea of what was coming than their neighbours up and down the street. When it did, the raid would be swift and efficient, stunning in its suddenness.

‘Any time now,’ Roth said.