He lay on the bed and ticked boxes in his head—AlphaPharma Consulting had an address known to other businesses, and a business registration; it had a list of clients and engagements that could be checked. If ISI went nosing around the Paris offices of AlphaPharma, they might not find Sébastien Duboscq behind his desk, but they’d probably run into Claire, who could tell them all about the man she’d shared a smoke with just the other day. Sébastien had a personal identity, a driver’s licence, an address and a trail of social network activity on Facebook and LinkedIn. His work phone number was backed up and his two most recent clients would be verified by someone in the administration section of Y Division. This preparation was critical—if a target was being monitored by a secret service, they would test de Payns’ fictive ID; if there was one loose thread, a good intelligence operative would pull at it until the entire fabric unravelled.

Raven and Sébastien were planning to meet at Café Havre at 6 p.m.—early enough to make it professional but informal enough to start on a sociable footing. It had to be a good first meeting. De Payns took a shower and opened the Paco Rabanne toilette set he’d bought, using the deodorant and splashing on the cologne after he’d shaved. He dressed casually at first and made a pass of the venue at 5.28 p.m. He wanted to memorise the global picture so when he turned up for the actual meeting he’d be able to spot if something wasn’t right. The cafe was located on the corner of the main street and a well-used cross street. De Payns knew how an intelligence team would set up around and inside the cafe, and he could see nothing amiss.

He returned to the hotel, dressed in his suit and English shoes, and walked the three blocks to the cafe with a small leather satchel, arriving two minutes early. He sat against a wall so he could see the street, the entrance and the hallway that led to the WCs. There was virtually no one in the place—the Belgians ate even later than the French. As the waitress poured a water and asked if anyone else was joining him, Raven walked into the cafe, dressed in a stylish dark blue silk blouse and white flared pants with medium heels. De Payns sprang to his feet, all smiles, and she blushed.

‘Hi, Anoush?’ he said, putting out his hand. ‘Sébastien Duboscq from AlphaPharma.’

She seemed a little flustered. ‘Hello, Monsieur Duboscq.’

‘Call me Seb, please,’ he said, hurrying around the table to pull

out the chair for her. ‘You’re on time. Such a refreshing change.’

De Payns found that a positive comment about a person’s professionalism always worked better than flattery about their looks or clothes.