Then Ben lost sight of Jeff and Tuesday as he was bundled into the windowless rear of the van, caged behind steel mesh and accompanied by several officers who no doubt had orders to shoot him dead if he tried to escape. If Nazim al-Kassar had received this much care and attention from the US military, back in the day, things might have turned out differently.

The van took off at speed. Ben settled down for the ride and said nothing to his captors. He guessed they were taking him back to Paris, and wondered if they were in convoy with the vans carrying Jeff and Tuesday. Whatever lay at the end of the road – terror charges, murder charges, incarceration – he could only wait and see how it played out.

Two hours and twelve minutes later, Ben felt the van come to a stop. His guards were on their feet and pointing their guns at him as the doors opened and he was marched out into a secure underground parking space where more police were standing by with shotguns and machine carbines. If he’d been travelling in tandem with Jeff and Tuesday, they’d been taken to a different location.

From the underground parking facility Ben was hustled up several floors in a steel lift with more armed escorts, and then to a bare holding cell with no windows and a door like a vault. They cut the tie away from his wrists, took his shoes and his watch, and then left without another word and locked him up.

At times like these, you try not to let yourself speculate too much about what’s in store. Ben had been a prisoner before, and he knew how to empty his mind and remain utterly still and quiet for many hours. The cell had a single bunk bolted to the floor, a metal toilet and a sink. He sat on the bunk, closed his eyes and sank into a meditative state.

He’d been sitting like that for over four hours when they finally came for him. Hearing the door unlock, he opened his eyes and turned. A different pair of guards, this time accompanied by a silent, severe-looking man in a dark suit, gave him back his shoes and walked him from the cell and down a passageway to a door. The guy in the suit knocked, and opened it. The guards motioned Ben inside. He stepped through the door and found himself in a plain, institutional office with beige walls, no carpet, a single window and a large desk with two chairs.

Sitting at the desk, dressed in a smart blazer and chinos and looking as if he owned the place, was Tyler Roth.

Chapter 66

Roth didn’t get up. ‘You have no idea how much I hate this part of my job, man. I’m a field guy, always was. That’s what I keep telling them, but do they listen?’