‘Extra intel,’ he said, placing an ‘O’ report on de Payns’ desk. It was very short and simply stated that the Pakistani national known to the Company as ‘Raven’ had been tortured and killed a week ago. The whereabouts of her body was unknown and her children had been returned to their father in Dubai. The writer of the report said the understanding in government circles was that the killing was done at the behest of her brother as reprisal for bringing a French spy to meet him in Islamabad.

De Payns closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He recalled a day on the water with Raven and how she had told him that the key to a good life was to have a great father. It was a pity about her brother, he thought.

Then he wrote his final reports, filed them and took a handful of painkillers, his ribs providing a constant ache. He headed across town on the Metro, and having cleansed himself of potential followers, got to the boys’ school at Montparnasse at 2.45 p.m. He greeted Oliver and Patrick and kissed Romy without hugging her. The broken ribs meant he couldn’t lift his arms.

She was full of joy, which de Payns thought was a little insensitive given his injury. But she couldn’t help herself.

‘I don’t know how you did it, but you hit the jackpot, Monsieur de Payns,’ she said. ‘Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, double living area. And only two thousand euros a month!’ She held up a key.

The new apartment was a Belle Époque beauty, one block from their previous apartment, with a leafy shared garden in the back. It was one of the sought-after government apartments that were twice as good as an OT could afford.

‘Who moved us?’ asked de Payns, more paranoid about security than ever.

‘Gael, Guillaume and Dominic,’ she said.

‘Briffaut? He came down here and moved our furniture?’

‘He said you’d be uncomfortable with anyone else doing it,’ said Romy, putting her arms around his neck. ‘Said it was a work thing.’

The boys watched SpongeBob while they got ready for soccer practice, slipping on their boots and shin guards. De Payns sent them to have a pee before they left for the field, and he flipped the channels while they were in the bathroom. On Al Jazeera he caught the tail end of a story from Islamabad, which showed flames and smoke towering into the sky and scores of fire engines trying to contain the inferno. ‘Some in the crowd are accusing the West of sabotage,’ the reporter was saying, ‘but the city fire chief says the fire most probably started in a cleaner’s storeroom.’ At the end of the report de Payns could fleetingly see through the smoke the words ‘Pakistan Agricultural Chemical Company’ on the soot-covered entry portico. He snorted.

The boys ran for the door, and de Payns followed. Romy intercepted him.