They sent an email after lunch on the final day of the conference, and the stand-in for Amin texted the burner phone number about ten minutes later. De Payns returned the text, suggesting they meet at Café L’Ecir, not far from the hotel, at 5 p.m. De Payns caught the Metro in from the north-west, making three changes of train, before emerging at Glacière Metro station at 4.45. He climbed the stairs to the northern side of the Boulevard Saint-Jacques and walked towards the meet through the early office-leavers.

He was wired up with radio equipment, the battery pack and transmitter strapped to his ankle, wired into a receiver for the earpiece that was attached under his shirt. He put in his earplug and pressed the ‘talk’ button in his pants pocket.

‘Y—check?’

‘Y—good copy,’ came the reply.

Satisfied the system was working, he signed off with ‘Aguilar—copy’ and then went to radio silence.

De Payns’ team was sitting in vans, planted in other shops and sitting in the cafe as patrons. When operating inside French territory, the Company usually handed over to the DGSI, the French internal security services, equivalent to the FBI or MI5. However on short operations the DGSE would usually work undeclared, as they were on this day. The DGSI were more like the police, and they operated with an arrest and prosecution mandate, whereas the Company might monitor a terrorist for a year and never interdict. Besides, the paperwork required to involve the domestic security services was too laborious for what amounted to a two-hour operation. De Payns relied instead on three of his regular mission team operators—tough people whom he’d worked with in Beirut, Damascus and Cairo. He knew they would intercede if the Pakistanis turned nasty.

He strolled in the late afternoon sunlight that streamed through the overhead trees, passing a Franprix supermarket on his right, aware of a team around him though he was unable to see them.

Stopping at the pedestrian crossing, de Payns caught a glimpse of the cafe through the trees and walked towards it. His senses were on high alert despite his calm demeanour. Agreeing to take part in an operation so close to his family was difficult to justify to himself—and it would be impossible to explain to Romy if she knew.

De Payns found a table inside with a view of the door, the street and the outside tables, and ordered a Kronenbourg. The clock above the bar showed 5 p.m. exactly.