The only saving grace of the Russians picking this capsule to intercept was that its payload was relatively low-value. All they’d find when they cracked it open would be an experimental pressurisation system containing a few strips of unexposed film. If they’d wanted to score a major intelligence coup, they’d picked the wrong day for it.

Langley was quiet when Dixon arrived at the research centre twenty minutes later. The nightwatchman waved him through the security gates and he drove across the empty car park to his reserved spot outside the building that had been given over to the Corona programme.

The only light in the building came from his office. Someone was waiting for him.

Phinneus Murphy had worked for the CIA for a long time. He looked like it, and he smoked like it. Dixon had never seen him without a cigarette between his fingers and another lined up to take its place. He was slouched in the easy chair that sat in front of Dixon’s desk, lighting up, as Dixon stepped into his office. They’d worked together long enough to dispense with pleasantries, so as soon as Murphy was finished taking his first, long pull on his cigarette, he got down to business.

‘What are we going to tell the president?’ he asked.

Dixon had anticipated Murphy’s question. ‘They didn’t get anything important,’ he answered. ‘Maybe we even let them take it. Something worthless to keep them occupied.’

‘Is that true?’

‘It could be. We got lucky.’ Dixon took a cigarette from Murphy’s case and sat down at his desk. He only smoked when he was stressed.

‘We got lazy,’ Murphy replied, between drags.

The Marlboro Man had sold America on the image of smokers as rugged and masculine. Cigarettes were to be savoured, smoked slowly by powerful people thinking serious thoughts. Murphy didn’t smoke like the Marlboro Man. He smoked like nicotine was his air and oxygen was poison.

‘We’ve known they’ve been on to Corona for months. We should have been expecting this,’ he said.

‘Not my area of expertise, I’m afraid,’ Dixon replied.

‘It doesn’t take an expert to guess that the more times you let someone get on a podium and tell the world how great we are, the more everyone’s going to want our stuff.’

‘We could always just share Corona,’ Dixon said. ‘You know, for the collective good of humanity.’

‘You going commie on me?’ Murphy asked.

Dixon let out a short laugh. Murphy lit his next cigarette.

‘Speaking of which,’ Murphy continued, ‘next on the president’s list is sticking a bunch of satellites over Vietnam. Got it into his head Corona is the key to nipping this Cong problem in the bud.’

‘He knows it can’t see through things, right? Unless we start clearing jungle it won’t be much help.’