Templar produced it from his bag, powered it up and switched it to viewing mode.

Dubash scrolled through the hundreds of shots, not seeing anything sexy. He gave up after forty seconds and handed the camera to his number two.

‘You do know that along with alcohol, we don’t have pornography in Pakistan?’ asked Dubash, focusing on de Payns. ‘You don’t have daughters, yes?’

De Payns was caught off guard. ‘Ah, no. No, I don’t.’

‘It is obvious,’ said the ISI man, shaking the notebook. ‘No one with daughters would disrespect women with this filth.’

De Payns searched for something light to say but the intel man was on his feet. ‘Your notebook says you were in the west of the city?’

‘You mean the airport?’ replied de Payns.

‘I was thinking further west and a little south of the airport,’ said Dubash, smiling. ‘See any sexy young girls out there?’

‘No, afraid not,’ said de Payns, his heart banging in his chest. Had they been spotted around the MERC?

‘You see anything out there that might fit in your movie?’

De Payns thought fast. The best lie was always eighty per cent of the truth. ‘We liked a petrol station with a yellow awning. It had a great coffee shop on the side of the building. We like it for a scene. Liked the coffee too—it would pass in Paris.’

Dubash weighed the notebook as if deciding on a verdict, and then handed it back to de Payns.

‘I think you’re leaving tomorrow,’ said Dubash. ‘But you keep that card, Monsieur Vinier, because if you want to make your movie here, I can give the script to the right officials, and I can tell you what to keep out of it, yes?’

‘Thank you, Major,’ said de Payns, offering his hand again.

When the ISI men had left, the team stayed in character with their legends and moved towards the street. De Payns noticed, as they filed past the hotel desk, that the ashen-faced manager looked scared enough to cry.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER

TWENTY-SEVEN