The attack on Valera had proved Bennett right. And the dead man was the evidence Knox needed to prove there was a direct line that ran from Bianchi and Moretti to Valera and led straight back to MI5 and Manning. Seeing Valera snatched by a fully armed strike team dispelled any notion that she might have been some sort of elaborate honeytrap, and also showed Knox just how much he’d underestimated Manning. He wondered what else the man might be capable of. The KGB had mastered the art of incapacitating targets without any signs of foul play. For all Knox knew, they’d helped get Holland out of the way to clear a path for Manning.

One question still lingered. Medev. Was Manning so valuable the Russians were ready to sacrifice one of their own to protect him? It was possible, but it gnawed away at Knox’s mind, not quite making sense, alongside what Medev had said about the CIA not having any female agents in Europe. Knox had no reason to believe Medev, but it still made him second-guess the rapid faith he’d developed in Bennett.

Knox hadn’t paid attention to where she’d gone after they’d landed. She might have disappeared into the Dutch night, but Knox had a feeling she was somewhere very close, keeping her own tabs on him. He’d tested her in Stockholm; now he decided he needed to push her, and see if a little more pressure on top of everything they’d been through would make her break and reveal some hidden motive or allegiance. He reminded himself that just because they shared enemies that didn’t necessarily mean they were friends.

They reunited in the gate line. The flight hadn’t filled up and they boarded quickly. This plane was smaller than the ones they’d taken to and from Stockholm. The aisle was off-centre, with single seats running down the left side of the cabin, and sets of two down the right. Their seats were halfway down the plane, near the wing. Bennett took the window, leaving Knox with the aisle. He glimpsed one of the plane’s two propellers starting to turn through a window and immediately fastened his seatbelt.

Bennett was the one who spoke first, but only after take-off, when the stewardess arrived with the drinks trolley.

‘Nothing for either of us, thank you,’ she said to the stewardess, leaning across Knox. Then, patting his arm, she added, ‘You’ve had enough, darling.’

Before Knox had the chance to protest the stewardess moved on, and by the time he turned round to beckon her back after snatching his arm from under Bennett’s surprisingly firm grip she was already several rows away. He wanted another drink, but he didn’t want to be the man who chased a trolley down a plane to get it.

‘Just keeping up the act,’ she said.