When his alarm went off a few hours later he was glad of the excuse to get up and out of there into work. And now here he was, suited and booted, standing outside the door of the Chief’s outer office, waiting to be summoned in. Angela had gone over several heads to request this urgent meeting for Luke to present his findings in person and it was a mark of how much confidence the Chief had in him that he had got his 0745 appointment. Some eyebrows would be raised at this in the 0900 directors’ meeting. But now, as the minutes ticked by, Luke began to question whether he should have done this differently. What he was about to tell the head of MI6 was going to have major diplomatic and political consequences. Should he have run it by Sid Khan first? Or the Counter-Proliferation people? No. Luke trusted Angela to spare him from getting all bogged down by Service protocol.

‘Would you like to come in? He’s ready for you now.’ The Chief’s PA: an indomitable battleaxe of a woman who had seen a succession of Cs come and go in her time. Grey hair cut short, spectacles on a chain and a dress sense that made few concessions to the twenty-first century. Brenda was something of a legend within the Service. What secrets have you been privy to? Luke thought, as he followed her through to the Chief’s office. The first thing he saw was that the Chief was not alone. Sitting demurely on the couch, ankles crossed, hands on her lap, was Jenny Li. Luke was not surprised to see her – Lithuania had been their joint deployment – but this was no place for an effusive greeting. Next to her sat Angela. Both women gave him warm smiles, but kept silent. Sir Adam Keeling was still sitting behind his desk, reading something intently, and at first he didn’t look up. This was his last year in the job, everybody here knew that. Retirement from government service beckoned, along with a generous pension and probably a comfortable non-executive directorship at one of the big City firms in Canary Wharf where they would expect to take full advantage of his trusted contacts. Sir Adam would hardly want to rock the boat at this stage of his life. Which made Luke’s task doubly tricky.

‘Come.’ The Chief gestured to the chair nearest his desk, but still he didn’t look up. Luke watched him sign something in the famous green ink. There are many things about the Secret Intelligence Service, MI6, that have changed beyond recognition as it drags itself into the twenty-first-century world of cyber, ISIS and lawyers needing to be in on the ground floor of every operation. But some things haven’t changed. The head of the Service is still called ‘the Chief’, or simply ‘C’, and he still signs letters – yes, letters – in green ink.