He rose three centimetres in the air and woke as he thumped down on the yoga mat. De Payns gasped, for a split second not knowing where he was. The darkness was intense and he wiped saliva from the side of his face. He must have been in a deep sleep but now the Toyota had slowed and, judging by the heavy bumps and gravel noise beneath the car, they were off the tarmac. He looked at his watch: 11.45 a.m.

The car came to a stop, and Templar’s voice conferred with what sounded like an official. He spoke in a mix of English, French and Urdu and there seemed to be a lot of agreeing going on. De Payns assumed they were at a border. Templar was good at borders and they cleared this one in record time. They’d been in the car long enough to get him into India or Afghanistan, thought de Payns. It was normal security procedure for the person in Templar’s position to design an emergency exfiltration and not tell the rest of the team the details.

Ninety minutes later the Camry stopped, reversed, and then the engine was switched off. The silence was beautiful and de Payns’ bones were thankful for the respite. He strained his ears, listening for an aircraft or the sounds of a harbour, but all he could hear was Templar’s voice through the rear seat bulkhead.

‘Aguilar, hold tight, vieux frère,’ he said. ‘We’re switching cars, and when that’s done you’ll be riding up front, okay?’

‘Okay,’ said de Payns.

He lay in the blackness, revelling in the quiet, and now knowing that the exfil was a cross-country drive, not a plane or a boat. He found the other apple, ate it, and then devoured one of the muesli bars, which contained bits of dried apricot and chocolate chips.

After fifteen minutes, during which Templar and Danny fiddled with the radio and laughed at the local pop music being played, de Payns heard a car engine. It got closer until it was right beside the Camry. Doors opened, there was a conversation. The Camry sagged with weight on the driver’s side and Templar said, ‘We’ll have you out soon. Danny’s checking our new car.’

Then the trunk latch popped and Templar’s arm was clearing away the suitcases and boxes around de Payns. It was dark, no moon.

‘Okay,’ said Templar, and de Payns grabbed his arm and was pulled out of the boot. His legs almost went from under him.

They were in a park by a lake with a small building beside them that looked like public toilets—a picnic area, de Payns thought. There were two cars in the car park—the Camry and a silver Passat parked beside it.

‘Need to go?’ asked Templar, pointing at the building. ‘Make it quick, I want to get moving.’