Danni came into the room, and cleared away the plate of lamb. She put down a bowl of chocolate mousse, and refilled his water glass. Her hand appeared to brush against the side of his jacket, he felt certain of it, and she hovered beside him clearing away the cutlery for a fraction of a second longer than was necessary. Stop kidding yourself, mate, Porter told himself. She’s not going to be interested in an old bum like you. There’s no harm in looking, never is, but there’s no point in fooling yourself you’re going to get anywhere.

He dipped his spoon into the pudding. Chocolate mousse is the closest you’re getting to any sensory pleasure this or any other night.

‘Hey, vitamins first,’ said Layla sharply. ‘Remember what the doctor said.’

‘I know, I know,’ said Porter, tossing a couple of green pills into the back of his throat and washing them down with some water. ‘Deficient in every major vitamin group except B. The amount I’ve been eating, I must have started fixing that by now.’

‘Once you touch down, you say goodbye to Layla here, and walk through customs as normal,’ said Sir Angus, interrupting the conversation. ‘Ever been to Rafik Hariri airport?’

Porter shook his head. ‘Last time I was in Beirut, I was dropped in by a Puma chopper, and I was carrying an M16 rather than a passport.’

‘This time we’ll try and make it a bit more official,’ said Sir Angus. ‘Our man in the city will be looking out for you. A chap called Ben Stanton. He’s a good man, and he knows the drill so don’t bother looking for him. He’ll find you and have a car waiting. Once he’s got hold of you, just walk casually, and chat to the guy like you’re a couple of old drinking mates meeting up for a jolly. Beirut airport is probably teeming with more spies than any other place in the world, and they are all damned good at what they do. The Lebanese may not seem to be up to much apart from running kebab shops on the Edgware Road, but they do know how to spy, so if you do anything suspicious, anything out of the ordinary, you can be damned sure someone will spot it, and then you really could be in trouble.’

‘You mean more trouble than turning myself over to a bunch of brutal kidnappers …’

A slow smile spread across Sir Angus’s lips. ‘You volunteered for this gig, remember. I don’t want any whinging now.’

‘Once you are in the car, Stanton will be in charge,’ said Layla. ‘We’ve had some contact with Hassad, and this is the drill. Stanton is going to drive you due south to a place called Sidon, on the coast. He’ll drop you at the bus stop. From there you’ll get a local bus that will take you the thirty miles or so towards a place called Jezzoine. Next, you’ll get on another bus towards Anjar. It’s a little place, close to where the borders of Lebanon, Syria and Israel all meet. When you get there, you walk across to the bar directly opposite the bus station. Go in, order yourself a coffee, and then sit down. Don’t talk to anyone if you can help it. And don’t draw too much attention to yourself. We’ll give you some Lebanese money. They use pounds, funnily enough, but there are three of theirs to every one of ours, and we’ll make sure you have plenty.’