‘We’re about to find out,’ she said.

Briffaut ended his call. ‘There’s a car waiting in the garage,’ he said, standing.

They drove in a silver Mercedes van, which had seats facing one another in the back and a soundproof barrier between the rear seats and the driver. The section heads’ vans were supposed to be SCIFs on wheels, but de Payns had never been convinced. They drove in a southerly direction, beyond the Périphérique, Briffaut briefing de Payns along the way about the Afghan national lying in the secure hospital of Villacoublay Air Base.

‘He was picked up by an RPIMa patrol in Kapisa Province,’ said Briffaut.

‘Kapisa?’ said Lafont. ‘We still have paras operating in Afghanistan?’

‘Logistics and humanitarian,’ said Briffaut, deadpan.

Lafont shook her head, tired of the same old shit. ‘Okay, so a French logistics unit discovers this guy and flies him to Paris. Why?’

‘Let’s find out,’ said Briffaut.

They veered off the N118 south onto the A86, and Villacoublay Air Base loomed to de Payns’ left. Having been cleared by the gate security, they drove to a large administration building, parked, and de Payns walked with Briffaut and Lafont to a rear tradesmen’s entrance. De Payns felt old emotions rising. He’d never been inside this building, controlled as it was by the French secret services. During his air force career he’d been billeted at a more modern operations centre further west on the base. He paused at the door, allowing Marie Lafont to enter in front of him, and looked into the sky, where two Mirages flew in a formation of leader and wingman. As he tried to make out their markings, he was transported to another time and place—11 September 2001. They were on dogfight exercises when the ground signal came through:

‘Marcou Hotel, Dijon.’

De Payns had responded, ‘Marcou Hotel.’

‘Marcou Hotel. Knock it off, knock it off. Report steady.’

‘Hotel steady,’ de Payns replied, curious about the command.

‘Hotel, ready for TOP TOD?’ asked Dijon Tower.

‘Hotel ready,’ said de Payns.

‘Hotel three-two-one TOP TOD.’

After switching to encrypted radio frequency, he heard, ‘Marcou Hotel, check?’

De Payns replied, ‘Hotel on freq.’

‘Copy. Hotel, RTB ASAP, clear speed and altitude.’

That’s when de Payns’ pulse had stepped up. RTB was ‘return to base’, and ‘clear speed and altitude’ meant ‘do whatever it takes, just get here as fast as possible’. In the controlled environment of the French Air Force, it was almost unheard of to be given clear speed and altitude.

‘Hotel copy,’ said de Payns. ‘Reason for the RTB ASAP?’

‘Will be specified on the ground.’

‘Hotel copy,’ said de Payns. ‘Heading to Dijon.’