Without confiding too many details, he told them about the man who had involved himself in their affairs and whom they must now track down. Sarfaraz listened without comment, then asked, ‘How do we find him, if we don’t know his name or where he lives?’

‘I’m certain that he has the Juneau woman’s phone. If we can locate its whereabouts, it can lead us to him. Can you do that?’

Sarfaraz shrugged. ‘Sure, no problem. All we’d need is the number.’

‘I can find that out with one phone call.’

‘Okay. Once you have it, we can feed it into a GPS phone tracking app, and we can find him, easy.’

‘Even if it’s not turned on, or not connected to the internet?’

Sarfaraz found the older man’s lack of technical savvy amusing, but allowed himself only a slight smile out of respect. After all, Nazim al-Kassar had been engaged in heroic jihad when Sarfaraz was still barely out of nappies.

‘Used to be, it was just governments and agency spooks who had the means to do stuff like that,’ the young man explained. ‘But not any more. I just need to get back to my place and get my kit. Then as long as he’s still got the phone it’ll take me just seconds to pinpoint him to within a metre.’

Nazim said, ‘Then get to it. I want this man dead.’

Chapter 20

Ben didn’t have to travel far to have his private conversation with Michel Yassa. Just half an hour’s drive to the east from Saint-Denis lay the Forêt de Bondy. Once upon a time the deep, dark, sprawling forest had encircled the whole eastern side of the city and provided a notorious refuge for brigands and cutthroats. Now it was given over mostly to drug dealers and tourism, though there were still enough woodland trails and secluded areas for Ben’s purposes.

He found a track wide enough for the car to negotiate and pushed as deep into the forest as he could, until he came to a lonely clearing in the middle of thick oaks and beeches, golden with the colours of autumn and fast shedding their leaves. This was as good a spot as any. He killed the engine and got out. The carpet of dead leaves and moss was spongy and soft underfoot as he walked around to the back of the car and opened the boot to reveal his prisoner curled up inside, blinking at the sudden light and looking fairly traumatised. The effects of Michel Yassa’s daytime drinking session had all but worn off.

Ben said, ‘All right, now let’s talk. Where’s al-Kassar?’

‘I … I don’t … I thought …’