Harry closed his eyes tightly and concentrated on his breathing. He’d always had good control of his emotions, finding it easy enough to manage his fear even in the face of danger. Which is exactly what he was facing now. Had he made the wrong call? Chosen the wrong team? Seraphine had answers and was taking him to the very person who had done all of this, but was that really what he wanted? Of course, it wasn’t. All he wanted was to retrieve his memory and find out who had done this to him and why. He didn’t want to meet the guy.

The red dusty airfield was nestled within lush green trees. A pristine white SUV awaited them and the driver greeted Seraphine with the politeness of a loyal servant. What was this woman up to?

‘Welcome, Sir. I am Abdul,’ the man said to Harry with a handshake and a head bow. Despite the reverence, Harry didn’t miss the coldness in the man’s eyes. He guessed this was Seraphine’s man on the inside. They got into the car and drove for around an hour, passing only one small town of low-level huts.

Eventually they arrived at a gated property that was completely at odds with its surroundings. Its smart white façade, complete with three curved balconies framed by elaborate black railings and held up by elegant pillars, would have been more at home in the hills of LA or the vineyards of Italy. This group was well funded. Blood diamonds, Harry guessed.

No going back then. He was entirely in the hands of Seraphine and whatever twisted individual lived behind these doors. Harry thought of his children. He desperately wanted to see them again. Another image came to mind, one he wasn’t expecting: Karene. His children were obviously very fond of her – that was clear at yesterday’s meeting. And her affection for them made him see her in a different light. Maybe she was important to him after all. He hoped he lived long enough to find out.

Stepping out of the car into the bright morning sun, he took a long, deep breath then followed Seraphine and Abdul inside.

68

‘Did you sleep?’ said Jameson as he came to join Bloom in the kitchen.

‘Not much.’ She had been up since four thirty a.m. reviewing the case and incessantly checking for messages from Karene or Seraphine.

Late last night, she had called Detective Superintendent Drummond and asked him to put pressure on the Hertfordshire Constabulary to search for Karene and the children in St Albans. Jameson was likely right that they’d been moved, but she didn’t want to make any assumptions. In turn, Jameson had called in every favour he could think of with his old contacts in MI6. But they both knew all of these people had other priorities and other focuses.