Templar completed the thought. ‘They timed the call thinking you’d still be sitting there at dinner with Timberwolf. What are we dealing with?’

‘Someone who wants the Falcon team wiped off the board,’ said de Payns.

They came over a hill and the pale lights of Gardez lay in front of them. Afghan towns didn’t leave their electricity running all night like they did in Europe. There was a small camp of Afghan soldiers and armoured four-wheeler military vehicles on a spur to the side of the road, but they weren’t running a checkpoint and the Frenchmen drove through.

‘There’s a twenty-four-hour service station on the other side of the town,’ said Templar. ‘Tank there and I’ll get moving.’

‘You got money?’

‘Enough.’

De Payns pulled a swag of US notes and euros from his pocket and gave five hundred US dollars to his friend.

‘You haven’t told me about the ISI,’ said de Payns. ‘Who came for me?’

‘Two professionals on foot, one sub and a car,’ said Templar. ‘Timberwolf took the call and was straight on to you. We were fucked.’

‘Why didn’t they grab me off the street?’

‘Maybe he didn’t want to lose face in front of his sister? Or maybe he was going to scare you, and just bank the favour.’

‘Bank it?’

‘You know what these people are like,’ said Templar. ‘At some point he’ll want to be rescued by France; you’ll be called out to Évreux one day and he’ll be sitting in a cell saying, Remember me? I did you a favour once, now you do me one.’

De Payns smiled at the assumption of French goodwill. In his first year at the Company, he’d been part of a team that brought a Syrian opposition politician to Paris. The Syrian was going to give the Company all the inside information on the Assad regime, and France would get his family out, give them citizenship and donate eight hundred thousand euros to his party. When it became apparent that the politician was just jockeying for position and trying to destroy his rivals with unfounded gossip, the Cat decided to cut him loose and de Payns was instructed to deal with him. He drove the Syrian to a busy intersection in Paris, handed him the attaché case with the promised money, and told him to get out.

‘But where is my family?’ asked the man.

‘That’s your problem,’ said de Payns.

‘But I’m a dead man without protection,’ said the panicking politician. ‘I’ve just betrayed half the politicians and generals in Assad’s regime.’

‘That’s your problem,’ de Payns had repeated, leaning across him and opening the door.