He opened the nearest door and led them inside. The flat had a small kitchen, a bathroom, and two other rooms. It was unfurnished apart from a table and chairs and four mattresses on the floor in what would have been the living room, and a fridge humming quietly in the kitchen.

‘Coke and water in the fridge,’ said Firas, with an open smile. ‘Food also. At six o’clock will come your contacts.’

‘Thanks, pal,’ said Carr, shaking his hand.

The Tunisian left, and the four men dumped their bags.

Kevin McMullen went for a piss, and Geordie and Fred West lay down on the nearest mattresses.

‘Wake me at six,’ said Fred, a man who could sleep anywhere, anytime.

The far wall of the apartment had sliding doors which looked out onto a balcony with a view of the Lac de Tunis.

Carr walked over, closed the curtains most of the way, stood in the remaining gap, a foot or two back to stay in shadow, and looked out at the city below.

He stood there for some time, running through the plan in his head, going through his mental checklist.

Eventually, he turned and lay down on the remaining mattress, closing his eyes, trying to clear his mind.

At a quarter to six, he opened his eyes again and stood up.

‘Look lively,’ he said, prodding Fred West with his boot.

There was a knock at the apartment door just before the hour.

Geordie Skelton opened it. Two people – a dark-haired, bearded man in his late forties, who was carrying a small sports bag, and a brunette in her thirties.

‘John Carr?’ said the woman, in a voice out of Home Counties central casting.

‘No,’ said Geordie. He pointed with a thumb. ‘That’s him.’

Carr stepped forward and shook the woman’s hand.

She held it for a beat longer than strictly necessary, her eyes on Carr’s.

Then she turned to the bearded man.

‘Would you mind waiting outside, Peter?’ she said. ‘Leave the bag.’

She waited until he’d left, closing the door behind him, and then turned back to Carr.

‘I’m Arabella Barnes,’ she said, with a smile. ‘I’m from Six at the embassy. Justin Nicholls in London sent me to meet you.’

Her hair was scraped back in a tight ponytail, and she wore a loose black business suit, but Carr had the feeling that underneath the modest exterior was a tidy rig.

‘Is that so?’ he said. ‘I was expecting a guy. Don’t know why.’

‘Old-fashioned sexism?’ said Arabella, with a mischievous grin. ‘I’m sorry to disappoint.’

‘I’m not disappointed,’ said Carr.

‘Good.’ She had big brown eyes, and they flashed as she spoke. ‘I’m to make sure that you hand over any personal effects which might link you back to the UK, give you a last briefing, and help you with anything else you need.’

‘Anything?’ said Carr, with a grin. ‘That sounds promising.’