‘Excuse me?!’ de Payns retorted, feigning outrage. ‘What exactly are you insinuating? I’m here at the invitation of a friend and colleague. I gather you are someone important, but that does not give you the right to speak to me that way.’

Hearing that the tone of the conversation had changed, Anoush emerged from the kitchen to see what was happening. De Payns leaped in quickly.

‘Listen, Anoush, your brother has accused me of behaving dishonourably and I don’t appreciate it. I’m sorry, but I’m going to leave you now. I’m not here to create a scene. I hope you enjoy your dinner—we can catch up some other time.’ He rose from the table. ‘Goodbye, Doctor,’ he said stiffly. ‘Please accept my best wishes. It wasn’t my intention to intrude.’

De Payns headed for the front door under the amused gaze of Dr Death, who obviously appreciated the situation. Moving deliberately, avoiding any jerky actions that would cause the bodyguard to react, he collected his windbreaker from the coat hook beside the kitchen door. For now he had only one play—act embarrassed and get onto the street. His palms had turned clammy as he put on his jacket, the pieces of the phone rattling in the pocket.

On the other side of the door the second bodyguard stood his ground, not moving when de Payns passed him. De Payns tracked his movements without staring at him. If the bodyguard went for a weapon, de Payns would crush his throat, take the pistol and deal with the man in the hallway. His heart was not racing yet, but the room was feeling very small and he could feel his pulse jerking in his throat. He was ready for violence, yet he had to avoid a confrontation at all costs. Just get onto the street without mishap, he reminded himself. Once his team had eyes on him, he trusted Templar’s guys against the ISI. Templar had once exfiltrated a blown agent from Cairo, keeping her safe for thirty-six hours while the secret police searched every corner of the city. He’d got her back to Paris at the cost of a bullet in one French operative’s leg, and a lost finger when an operative’s hand was slammed in a car door, which was a pretty good result.

He turned to say goodbye, rotating into the bodyguard, not away, so he could keep tabs on him. Raven stood in front of him, tears on her cheeks, her great head of hair suddenly flat and limp. She wanted to hug him but de Payns reached out a hand and offered a handshake.

‘Thanks for a wonderful evening, Anoush,’ he said. Over her shoulder, a man who could kill millions with his bioweapon looked at de Payns and smiled.

‘Good evening, Dr Bijar,’ said de Payns.

The other man didn’t reply.