Templar had been trained to wait, to conserve his energy and then to execute his orders with ruthless accuracy. It was what he’d done as a special forces paratrooper in Iraq and Afghanistan, and as a long-range recon man in Africa. It was the role he played for the Company, the forgettable man, the face in the crowd, the person you don’t give a second’s thought to—until the time was right, and then he acted. He was an expert at waiting but he wasn’t enjoying this wait. He probably shouldn’t have taken the assignment. He was friends with Aguilar and Romy, he’d been around when the kids were babies. So he had to consciously contain his ferocity. In the Angolan bush he would have caught Philippe Manerie and hurt him so badly that the traitor would have begged to take him to Romy, Patrick and Oliver. He would have pleaded for Templar to take them. But this wasn’t Africa, and it was delicately poised; Manerie had the upper hand and Templar had to wait for the information.

After almost two hours of waiting, the phone trilled in the back and Brent took the call. He spoke for thirty seconds and then leaned through, ‘Attigny, north-east of Dijon Tower thirteen twenty-eight. I have the coordinates.’

Templar tweaked the phone and called Briffaut, told him the news.

Briffaut replied, ‘We have a Caracal at the military annexe. When you’re at the tower, let me know and we’ll call Valley.’

The army Caracal helicopter took them north in the pre-dawn over the sprawling farmlands of northern France, and when they were in the neighbourhood of the tower coordinates, Templar elected to put down in a farm paddock. The landscape was visible when they stepped off the helicopter beside a river. The pilot shut it down. ‘We’ll be two hours,’ said Templar, hauling the assault rifles, binoculars and comms gear from their duffel bags. Templar was sure they’d arrived undetected. The pilot had flown downwind of the target area, and at less than 100 feet altitude.

The three of them—Templar, Brent and Jean-Michel—crossed the countryside towards the white cell tower that stood on a low ridge between stands of trees. There were two farmhouses to the east of the tower, and one to the north-west. Templar found a hide in the undergrowth and took his military binoculars from his pack. He sat, resting his wrists on the top of his knees. Jean-Michel did the same.

‘Southern farmhouse, white with tiled roof,’ said Templar.

‘Copy,’ said Jean-Michel.

‘I see tractor, farm truck, motorbike and I think that’s a harvester in the shed.’

‘Copy that. Looks legit.’

Templar shifted his sights to the second farmhouse, which was further north. ‘Northern farmhouse, white tiled roof,’ said Templar. ‘Is that a van?’