Bennett’s journey back to Neville Street had been full of self-pity. She hated the idea of giving up her life in London and going back to America. She didn’t want to face her mother’s attempts to hide her disappointment or her useless brothers’ inevitable jokes, and she didn’t want to end up working some meaningless secretarial job in New York or Chicago if she was lucky, or Garden City if she wasn’t.

But when she reached her room, the home she’d made for herself, her pity transformed into anger. And fear. Seeing Medev killed and Valera kidnapped had shocked Bennett, but she’d told herself that she hadn’t been a target—she’d just got caught up in the attack along with Knox. Now that Finney had effectively taken her out of the game her mind was starting to catch up with everything that had happened in such quick succession since Stockholm. The man in Hyde Park had been there purely because of her. He’d wanted to hurt her, maybe even kill her. She realised she’d been so consumed with proving herself that she’d put herself in real, mortal danger. But as much as that scared her it also persuaded her even more that she was right—something very wrong was happening in MI5, and Finney was up to something too.

There was no one waiting for her but an envelope bearing the seal of the American embassy had been slipped under her door. It contained a letter informing her that her cover position had been terminated with immediate effect. She carefully slid the letter back into the envelope, then tore both of them in half.

She didn’t know where her future was, but she now knew it wouldn’t be in Neville Street. The embassy knew she lived there, which meant so did the CIA and so would anyone. Finney might tell. She didn’t want to be sent back to America, but she also didn’t want to be kidnapped or killed and left to rot in her room. It was time to go. She started to pack.

She’d just finished sorting through her small pile of dirty clothes, wondering when and where she’d wash them, when she glanced out of the window and saw a man standing on the opposite side of the street looking up at her. He was middle-aged, with a shock of wiry blond hair, and his eyes were firmly fixed on her. They stared at each other for a moment before Bennett stepped back from the window.

She went back to her wardrobe, trying to ignore what had just happened, but she couldn’t resist peeking back out into the street to see if the man was still there. He was.