He digested that along with the last mouthful of stir-fry. That twist inside him tightened another notch. Nonsense, surely. The sort of talk that would get you taken out of service until a professional had a chance to look at you. Except she didn’t look distressed or irrational; she wasn’t even upset. This was Alison in full-on professional analysis mode, save that she might as well have been trying to trace the activity of spies out of Oz or Neverland.

“You keep saying ‘it,’ ” he pointed out at last. “What’s ‘it’?”

“Who can say?” She tried a breezy smile that fractured almost immediately. Then, in a smaller voice, “I think it might be an artificial intelligence.”

“You remember Schoen Fayre Invested?” This was after the meal, with Alison curled up at one end of her sofa, one knee drawn up and Simms pooled precariously on the arm.

Julian was still at the table, having flicked through his email to ensure nobody had started any wars since he’d last checked in. “Rings a bell.”

“This was…eight years back. Stocks and shares guys. There was a stink about it. They shut down.”

“Not really an area I keep tabs on, but I assume there was more than insider trading if they brought you in?” He frowned. “Or was this Derek’s thing?” Alison’s ex was Something In The City.

“This was…a bit of a hybrid job. I got involved first with my civilian hat on, and yes, through Derek, because he’d sunk some money into them—meaning his clients’ money—and they were looking dodgy. Then your lot became involved. They didn’t want me around, then they saw I’d worked out a whole lot they hadn’t, so they stopped being coy with me. By the end of the job I was signing the Official Secrets Act and applying my talents full-time for Queen and Country.” She settled further into the sofa. Simms glowered at Julian and put a proprietary paw on her arm.