A television played the France 24 news service and de Payns heard a phrase that got his attention. He grabbed the remote from the coffee table and turned up the volume—the screen was now filled with a colour picture of a good-looking blonde woman in her mid-thirties. He knew that face—or, more accurately, Sébastien Duboscq knew that face. The reporter’s voice-over continued: ‘The DCPJ have identified the body found in the Seine three days ago as Claire Fouchet, a thirty-four-year-old insurance broker from Paris. Her badly disfigured body was discovered by a tour boatoperator, and investigators have appealed for any witnesses to come forward …’ The scene shifted to a detective, who referred to torture without spelling it out.

‘You okay, Alec?’ asked Briffaut.

De Payns collapsed back on the sofa. ‘Claire Fouchet,’ he said, pointing at the TV screen. ‘She works in the neighbouring office to Sébastien Duboscq.’

‘Tortured?’ asked Shrek.

De Payns nodded, trance-like. ‘Whoever we’re dealing with, they’re in Paris.’

‘Get our police liaison on it,’ said Briffaut to Shrek. ‘And I need Interpol’s intel on Sicily freight movements.’

De Payns’ phone rang. The caller ID said ‘T’, but when he picked up, it was Romy.

‘Wow, that was annoying,’ she said, sounding happy. ‘But it’s made the boys’ holiday. We’re about to get on a helicopter. Ollie is beside himself.’

De Payns found it difficult to speak as the emotion welled up in him. He suppressed it by pinching the bridge of his nose. ‘So you’re okay, you and the boys?’

‘Sure,’ said Romy. ‘Gael’s got a broken nose. Apparently he walked into a door.’

‘Yes,’ said de Payns, laughing. ‘He’s known for that.’

He sagged when he got off the phone. ‘I can’t go back to that apartment. We’re compromised.’

‘I’ve got an idea,’ said Briffaut. ‘Leave it with me.’

They moved into an SCIF, Briffaut seated at the head of the boardroom table. Lafont and the chemicals genius, Josef Ackermann, arrived and Garrat sat with Templar and Shrek. There was a map of Europe and Asia projected on the screen in the room.

‘We have a lot of information but it doesn’t add up right now,’ said Briffaut. ‘Jim Valley is being held at the Cat. We haven’t yet told DGS. We’ll start on the questions soon.’

The faces all looked downwards. No one at the Company liked the topic of traitors.

‘But this is what we do have,’ said Briffaut. ‘We have a strain of weaponised clostridium found in a Palermo warehouse, and that same strain has been tested on a village in Afghanistan, where it killed more than thirty people. Our informant—Fazel—became seriously ill just from contaminated water on his face.’

Josef Ackermann chimed in. ‘We’ve got the results from the Red Cross on the Burmese village poisoning. It’s the same weaponised clostridium that was found in Palermo and Afghanistan.’