For twenty minutes, he’d been sitting back in a comfy chair while they took blood samples, and X-rayed his whole body. ‘I’ll take the bad news,’ said Porter grimly. ‘It’s what I’m used to.’

‘Your lungs are in the worst shape,’ said Simon. ‘Smoker, right?’

‘Only when I can afford them,’ said Porter. ‘Which isn’t very often right now.’

‘Just as well,’ said Simon. ‘Anyway, you’ve got several different infections. I’m going to put you on some high-strength antibiotics.’ He looked down at the papers on his desk. ‘There are a series of problems with your left leg. You have a nasty arterial ulcer infection just below the knee. You’re going to need a small operation to fix that. We’ll try and get that done right away. I’ll put you under for that, otherwise it will hurt a bit. You’ve got a series of skin fractures around your back, and your feet have a nasty case of gout, so we’re going to have to try and clean all of that up. We’re still waiting for a full analysis of your blood, but I think we can safely say your liver isn’t a prime specimen, but there’s basically nothing we can do about that in the time we have available.’ Simon glanced up at Porter and tried to smile. ‘As for your teeth, well, we’ve put in a call to one of the best dentists in London, and he’ll be here later today. It’s going to take a while, I’m afraid.’

He put his pen down on his sheaf of papers. ‘Any questions?’

‘You said there was some good news.’

Simon shrugged. ‘I lied about that. There isn’t any.’ He grinned. ‘Let’s put it this way, you’re still alive, which is a miracle given the way you’ve been living for the past few years. You’re basically pretty strong. Clean you up, and you’ll live a few more years yet.’

‘A few days is all I need,’ said Porter. ‘Fix me up so that I can hold out until Saturday night, and I’ll be fine.’

Simon nodded. ‘Then we’ll start right away.’

Porter walked through to the room he’d been allocated within the Firm’s headquarters. It wasn’t the Ritz, but by the standards he’d become accustomed to, it was luxury. He had his own TV, a small but comfortable bed, and next to it an array of medical tracking kit. It was a cross between a chain hotel, and an upmarket, private hospital. Good to see the Firm isn’t bothering with the NHS, Porter thought. They don’t mind mixing it up with al-Qaeda, but they don’t want their best men catching MRSA down at the local surgery.

Along one wall, there was a wardrobe and when he checked inside, there was a new charcoal-grey M&S suit, a white shirt and dark blue tie, and some black half-brogue shoes. Next to it, there were some cream chinos, a blue linen shirt, some loafers and a black sweater. Smart or casual, Porter thought, but either way, it was all a lot better than anything he’d worn for at least a decade. I guess they don’t want anyone on the payroll who dresses at Asda.