‘What’s wrong with a French Rachel Ballyntine?’

‘Yeah, her too.’

Once Bish had a name, there was more back and forth between Sarraf and Khateb, but finally Khateb agreed. Sarraf phoned a volunteer he knew through his work with migrant kids and organised someone to take in Khateb’s children for the time being. And then they drove to the Calais police station, where the French equivalent of Amal Alamuddin and Rachel Ballyntine was waiting outside.

Lena Crozier spoke French, Arabic and English. She had contacted Attal to say she was bringing her client in for questioning, and had informed the French press as well. She made a statement outside the police station explaining that her client was about to be questioned. It all seemed so civilised. Until the four of them entered the foyer under the intimidating scrutiny of the local police.

‘I’m getting out of here,’ Sarraf said, well aware that the hostility was directed at him as well as Khateb. ‘Let me know how it goes.’

‘Keys?’ Bish reminded him.

Sarraf went to retrieve them from his pocket and within seconds two uniforms had him facedown on the floor, with a gun to his head. Khateb got jumpy, turned to run and there was shouting and more weapons drawn until Khateb too was down, a knee to his back. Both men were cuffed.

‘Uncuff them!’ Bish shouted at Attal, who had just entered the foyer and was looking stony-faced.

It was Lena Crozier’s voice of reason that seemed to calm the situation. Probably a threat or two that Bish couldn’t understand. Once uncuffed, Sarraf made an exaggerated show of removing the keys from his pocket and handing them to Bish.

‘Fuck you all,’ he muttered, walking out.

Attal beckoned Bish to follow him upstairs with a gesture, but Bish was too annoyed to respond.

‘You should go with him,’ Crozier said in English. ‘There is something else going on here, I think. I’ll take care of Monsieur Khateb.’

By the time Bish was inside the station proper, he knew Crozier was right. The place was in full frenetic alert. There were phones ringing, shouts across the room; every landline, mobile and computer was in use. It was constructive chaos and seemed to have nothing to do with Khateb or Sarraf walking through the front doors. Bish followed Attal into his unsurprisingly cluttered office. Once inside, through the glass door he could see a group standing before a massive map of the area projected onto a white wall.

‘What’s happening?’ he asked.

Attal put on a pair of latex gloves to open a plastic evidence bag and take out an envelope with the words Capitaine Olivier Attal scrawled on the front. He withdrew a single sheet of paper and held it out to show Bish.

Lundi 16.05. Bombe numéro deux.

Bish didn’t need a translator for that. Attal pointed to the mobile phone in Bish’s hand. Ring your people was the silent instruction.

‘There’s been a bomb threat,’ Bish told Grazier moments later.