‘Let’s forget the poxy reunions, shall we, boys?’ snapped Muir. ‘There’s a poll out in the Evening Standard this morning showing that 75 per cent of the British public think British troops should be taken out of Iraq rather than have fucking Katie Dartmouth executed. So shall we just get down to sodding business?’

Porter noticed that Muir was doodling a picture of a woman with huge breasts and a very short skirt on the notepad lying in front of him on the desk. He looked back at Sir Angus.

‘So you think this Hassad man will speak to you?’ said Sir Angus.

‘That’s right, sir,’ said Porter. ‘Tell him there is an SAS man who spared his life in ’89, who lost two fingers on his left hand.’

Sir Angus nodded. ‘And if he’ll talk …?’

‘Then send me out to negotiate,’ said Porter.

‘Who is this guy, anyway?’ snapped Muir. ‘Where the fuck did you find him?’

‘Actually, he found us,’ said Sir Angus. ‘He came in this morning –’

‘Jesus, I can’t fucking believe it,’ said Muir, his tone exasperated. ‘We spend a couple of fucking billion a year on our security services, and we have to rely on some bloke who wanders in off the street. Christ Almighty. Your budget’s getting chopped in the next spending review, along with your balls.’

Muir was scribbling even more frantically on his pad – the breasts on the woman were growing larger and her skirt shorter.

‘He was one of our men,’ said Peter Thornton. ‘Porter was in the Regiment from ’88 to ’92.’

‘And he says Hassad will talk to him,’ said Sir Angus.

‘I don’t think we need him,’ said Collinson, leaning forward on the table.

Porter looked towards him, but made sure not a single muscle on his face even twitched.

‘No offence, Porter,’ said Collinson. ‘Good to see you again, and all that. But we’ve got men scouring the Middle East, looking in all the usual rat cellars, and we’re bound to turn up something. You’ve been out of this game for a long time.’ Another thin smile started to spread across his lips. ‘And all in all, it’s a shame you didn’t kill the man seventeen years ago.’

‘You …’ Porter was about to continue, but he stopped himself at the last moment. Looking up the table, he could see Sir Angus flinch as soon as Collinson spoke. So long as he’s against me, I’m in with a shout, he realised. Within the Firm, your enemy’s enemy had always been your friend. I can use that, he realised. So long as I play it right.

‘If you don’t need me, I’ll understand, sir,’ said Porter quietly, looking straight at Sir Angus, then glancing towards Muir.

‘And how many other leads do you have?’ said Muir to Sir Angus.

‘At this moment, precisely none,’ said Sir Angus. ‘And however confident Perry might be, the truth is we don’t have much of a clue where she is. Could be the Lebanon. Could be Syria or Jordan. They might even have taken her to Iraq.’