‘So,’ said Mustard Cardigan. ‘We have our conspirators?’

Murad flexed his muscles against the shackles, his face purple as he struggled to get words past the gag.

‘All those years and all that money, so these two traitors could undo it,’ said the Colonel.

‘We have to find out how much they divulged,’ said Mustard Cardigan. ‘It might take a few weeks, but they will talk. I can guarantee it.’

The Colonel nodded to a man in a black shirt standing in the shadows, who picked up a power drill from a table and carried it over to Manerie. He revved it and Manerie could feel his bowels clenching as the chrome bit spun in the low light, inches from his face.

‘First things first,’ said the Colonel.

‘I agree,’ said Mustard Cardigan, as if he were deciding who would be dealer in their game of cards. ‘I’d like a few answers.’

Mustard Cardigan tore the tape off Manerie’s face. It stung.

‘Who are you?’ asked Manerie, one eye on the drill, the other on the man in the cardigan. He could think of nothing else to say.

‘You can call me Doctor Bijar,’ said the man, lighting a cigarette as he turned to Murad and tore the tape from his mouth. ‘So tell me, dear friend Murad, how did you miraculously escape from the DGSE at the end of my operation?’

‘I ran,’ croaked Murad, as if he had a frog in his throat.

‘You ran?’ sneered Bijar.

‘I lost Aguilar in the Metro,’ said Murad, through shallow breaths. ‘The cops stopped him—I got lucky.’

‘That was your escape, but what about at the water works?’ prompted the small man. ‘Everyone is shot or captured, except the very lucky Murad?’

‘It wasn’t just DGSE at the water works,’ stammered Murad. ‘There were special forces, too. They made us.’

‘Curious,’ said Bijar with soft menace, ‘that my program was dismantled by the French at the very last moment, yes?’

Murad shrugged, staying cooler than Manerie. ‘I told you after Palermo that we had a new risk. My face wasn’t listed with any intelligence service until this Aguilar saw me on the ferry.’

‘That’s true,’ said Manerie, seeing a chance to build credibility. ‘We had the name—Murad—but no pictures or sightings.’

Bijar smoked and looked at the floor. Then he looked at Murad. ‘Tell me why you called to tell me the Frenchman’s name was Aguilar only after he’d left the dinner? It was a little too late, yes?’

Murad shrugged. ‘I didn’t know he was in Islamabad until Manerie told me. Then I rang you immediately. Given the timing, I imagined he’d still be in the apartment with you and your sister.’

‘I’m not in the Y Division,’ offered Manerie, looking for the angle. ‘They’re in their own building and they’re very secretive.’