The hot water washed away the traces of Clement Vinier and the odour of Pakistan. He stepped out of the shower at the safe house, dried off and dressed in the Alec de Payns clothing that he’d left home in a week earlier. He splashed on some cologne, collected his home-life watch, keys, wallet and phone, and headed for the street. It was mid-afternoon in Paris, thanks to the time difference with Pakistan. De Payns used two changes on the Metro—where he put the battery back in his phone and fired it up—finally coming out at Port-Royal. He was very careful when coming back from countries such as Pakistan or Iran, because of the reach of their intelligence services and the number of well-trained people they could mobilise in Paris. He’d already used one Company-run IS to clear him to his safe house—as insisted upon by the Company with returning OTs—and remained vigilant as he made for home.

He picked up a bunch of flowers from the woman who ran the local cafe-bar and carried the peonies in the crook of his arm as he made his way up the stairs. His heart pounding as he got to the door of the apartment that Romy’s savings was helping them to afford. The Ministry for Defence owned residential properties all over Paris to allow people earning government wages to live in one of the world’s most expensive cities, but the best apartments went to the ‘Hot and Cold Waters’, the military and intelligence officers who awarded themselves the red collar pip of the Légion d’Honneur and the blue ribbon of the National Order of Merit. They dominated the Ministry-subsidised apartments in the seventh, fourteenth and fifteenth arrondissements. Such apartments were referred to as the Hot and Cold Water buildings, in reference to the red and blue strings worn around the occupants’ suit collars, when not in military uniform.

He unlocked the door and pushed through, holding the flowers in front of him. He padded down the hallway and started talking, hoping to surprise Romy and the boys. But there was no one in the kitchen and the TV wasn’t on in the living room. The curtains were drawn, making it quite dark.

‘Romy!’ he said, dropping his pack on the floor. His heart picked up and his breath rasped in his own ears as he checked the bedrooms and bathroom. No one. He checked wardrobes and the broom closet in the hall. Picking up his phone, he hit Romy’s number and waited. It rang out, ending with her voice asking him to leave a message.