‘Look, we both know Stutz’s ambition is for Skip to deliver the software equivalent of ethnic cleansing. Rolt’s been talking up something similar in the UK – and he’s getting an audience. There’s evidence he’s been helping the process along – stirring up ethnic hatred. Stutz talked to me about the Invicta hostel bombing like it was preordained. What if it was planned – by them? The FBI could be missing a trick here.’

‘Meaning?’

‘That you and I may have a chance to stop the biggest orchestrated terror initiative since Nine/Eleven.’

She looked at him for several seconds. Tom could almost see the debate going on in her head. Is this guy for real or some fuckwit?

He noticed the Glock wasn’t pointed at him now. Beneath what was left of the shiny gloss of her cover, he detected the frustrations of her assignment coming to the surface. She looked at him for a long time. When she spoke again, it was through gritted teeth.

‘Stutz is impenetrable. He’s very meticulous, and very secretive. He’s got all the detail in his head. Maybe working with Skip has convinced him that, no matter how many firewalls you put in, nothing is safe. He hardly uses the phone, he doesn’t do email. Everything’s word of mouth. He has people from his security outfit couriering messages all over. And they’re all totally loyal to him, just like Kyle was.’

Tom looked at her afresh. She was in deep, risking her life, putting up with everything Stutz and Lederer threw at her for the Bureau. He bet her paymasters had never imagined, when they had instigated the War on Terror, that they would be tracking the likes of Stutz.

She put up a hand as if to wipe out the previous thought. ‘Wait, roll back. You talked about Rolt, the Invicta guy?’

Tom nodded.

‘Rolt was here a month back. He met with Stutz at his penthouse. That’s not usual – he takes work there sometimes but doesn’t do meetings there. He had me bring up a package, and when I went in he had this purple folder open, stuff spread all over the table. They looked like résumés, mug shots on them. The men with beards, women with headscarves. Never saw Stutz with anything like that before or since. Anyhow I’d come in without knocking and he went apeshit. I didn’t get near enough to see names or anything but I saw letters on the corners of some of them: SAR.’

‘Syrian Arab Republic.’

‘And we know he’s not hiring them – doesn’t even want them here. So why’s he looking at their details?’

‘What was the Bureau’s interest in him, originally?’

She gave him a withering look.