He was grateful for it now. The mirror gave him a clear view of the lobby’s backend, making an ambush here impossible. It allowed him to step out of the elevator with confidence, hiding the anxiety he had been feeling just moments before.

He turned right, walked to the end of the elevator bank and turned right again. It brought him to the side of the structure and revealed more of the main lobby with each step.

His first sight was Freddie Garcia, dressed in his brown uniform, wearing his peaked hat and standing at his wooden desk. He must have caught sight of Dempsey in his peripheral vision; he turned before Dempsey was even two steps into the lobby.

Dempsey had learned a lot about Garcia in his time in The Stratford. He had learned that Garcia was the eldest of six and, with his father’s death and his mother’s illness, the main provider for the whole family. He had learned that Garcia had ambition. An intention to put himself through college on a language course, hoping to offer translation services in New York’s courts or even, he had once admitted to Dempsey, the United Nations. And he had learned that Garcia was friendly, loyal, honest and generous. All perfect attributes for the position he held.

But most importantly right now, he had learned that Garcia had the world’s worst poker face. If a group of armed men were in the lobby, secreted behind the cover still provided by the elevator bank, Dempsey would have been able to read it in Garcia’s eyes.

Eyes which were, as he stepped closer, as bright and as happy as ever.

Dempsey returned Garcia’s smile. He knew he was safe. At least for the moment.

‘Your visitor, Mr Dempsey,’ Garcia said, indicating towards a spot Dempsey still could not see.

Two more steps and that was rectified.

It was the woman from the back seat of the Lincoln. Dempsey’s view had been clear enough at the lights. He had no doubt.

‘Thanks, Freddie.’ Dempsey stepped towards the agent as he spoke.

He did not know what he had expected; his natural respect for US Secret Service personnel had taken a hit after their mistake at the lights. But whatever that expectation had been, the woman ahead of him surpassed it.

She was around five foot six, and clearly strong and athletic. That much was obvious even when disguised by the Service’s near-uniform of black pants suit and white blouse. A suit that somehow looked extra black, now that Dempsey considered it. As if the light spectrum was being absorbed that little bit more. He quickly realised why. There was not so much as a single piece of lint or the tiniest speck of dust anywhere.

For a man with Dempsey’s military background, such fastidiousness was immediately impressive.

His eyes scanned upwards, where he noted dark hair that was cut to be feminine, neat and entirely practical, and a pair of alert, intelligent brown eyes.