‘I need copies of the French documents – the ones coming in through the Embassy,’ he said, sniffing a little and looking in the mirror then flattening the top of his crew cut with the palm of his hand.

‘You’ll need to ask Greenberg,’ I said, happy to be unhelpful.

‘I’m not asking Greenberg because if I do I won’t get to see them. They’re not coming through one of our channels and are destined for someone else’s desk.’

‘I can’t show you anything without Greenberg’s knowledge and permission. That’s how it works. You must know that.’

‘Listen, Mikey, the first time I met you I told you I needed you to stand up straight and true – you remember? Well this is one of those moments.’

But I gave him nothing back and he knew I wasn’t persuaded so, turning full face to me, he said, ‘I’m not asking you, Mikey, I’m telling you. It’s an order.’

‘Will you put it in writing?’

‘No, I fucking won’t put it in writing.’ His face had flushed a darker shade of red. I imagined it closing in on Tuyen’s face. ‘Are you completely off your head? Have you forgotten who it is you’re working for? Jeez, I’d like to spend five minutes with the asshole who thought you were up to this line of work.’ He slapped the top of the steering wheel. ‘Because, if you have forgotten, let me remind you it’s not the fucking Boy Scouts. And this isn’t summer camp.’

‘How do I know it’s a proper order and not just something you want to get one over on Bloomfield?’

‘Bloomfield? What’s Bloomfield got to do with it? This isn’t about that patsy.’

‘So what’s it got to do with?’

He pushed himself back into the seat, making it squeak, and shook his head in exasperation then said, ‘When I got landed with you, Mikey, I drew the short straw. You’re sitting here safely pushing paper but, just in case you hadn’t realised, there’s a war out there and very soon it’s going to be knocking on all our doors.’ He momentarily ran out of steam and turned his head away to stare out his open window.

‘Maybe you should stop treating me like an idiot,’ I said, before I had time to consider whether it was wise or foolish.

There was only silence. I looked straight ahead and wondered what the consequences might be. A young woman in a conical hat approached Donovan’s window, offering him a spray of flowers to buy. Suddenly he was screaming for me to get out, but before I could do that he had thrown his door open against the woman, knocking her backwards, and he was out of the car, the gun in his hand, and he was shouting at her to get down on the ground. For a second I thought he was going to shoot the now cowering woman, but instead he pushed his foot through the splayed bunch of flowers until satisfied there was nothing hiding there, then threw her some money and told me to get back in the car.