“He’s been on our radar for a while, as it happens. Comes highly recommended. You’ve got a meet set up with him in Caracas tomorrow. Travel has sorted out your flight and accommodation. You leave tonight.”

“Yes, sir.” She got up, collected the file and turned for the door.

Control stood, too. “One other thing, Beatrix.”

“Yes, sir?”

“And this is probably nothing. I’m almost loath to bring it up.”

“Sir?”

He winced, as if the subject he wanted to bring up was distasteful to him. “Are you—well, are you all right, Number One?”

“Of course,” Beatrix replied. “Why do you say that?”

“Your annual evaluation. I’ve looked it over. It’s fine—everything’s where I’d expect it to be, and your work has been excellent, as usual. But they’re still recommending referral.”

“Why would they say that?”

“They think you’re showing signs of distraction. Is that true, Beatrix? Are you distracted?”

She shook her head and, careful not to stare him down, held his gaze. “No, sir,” she said, with as much calm sincerity as she could find. “I’m not. Nothing’s changed.”

“You’re still committed to our work? It’s not—”

“Completely,” she said, talking over him. “I’m as committed as when you recruited me. More, in fact. I’ve seen the world now. What it’s like. What happens in the dark corners. What our enemies are prepared to do. I know better than ever that what we do is important. You don’t need to worry, sir. They can refer me if they like. But they’ll send me back clean.”

Control smiled; as ever, Beatrix found his off-white, vulpine teeth unpleasant. “I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” he said. “Knew it was nothing. Good luck, Number One. Enjoy the sun.”

2

Beatrix hurried to make her appointment. The clinic was on Harley Street in Marylebone. She took a taxi from Vauxhall Cross and, thanks to traffic as they passed Buckingham Palace, she was five minutes late. Her husband, Lucas, was in the waiting room.

“Sorry,” she said. “Traffic.”

“It’s fine.” He smiled as he kissed her.

Beatrix found that she was anxious, an uncomfortable ache in her stomach. Lucas was nervous, too; he told her as much when she left the house this morning, but he hid it beneath another warm smile as they sat down next to one another. He took her hand in his and squeezed it.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “Just… well, you know.”

“Don’t worry. We need to know. Whatever it is, we’ll adjust.”

The receptionist looked at her screen and then looked up at them. “Dr. Wells is ready,” she said. “You can go through.”