If the approach was real, why would they contact him in the middle of his exfiltration, against every basic rule of security, rather than find de Payns at the Bunker in Noisy? But if it was bullshit, how had they found him? Was he followed, or did someone who knew the exfiltration plan talk? Someone in his team?

De Payns had a choice—to escape quickly and use an unplanned itinerary, or go to the ‘Manerie’ meeting to see the face of the person, report it and, if it was an approach, do a counter-manipulation.

He was tired but he was still nosy. De Payns checked his ticket and crushed his smoke under his heel. Then he headed to platform 18.

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER

SIX

He walked the platforms parallel to his train, looking for watchers and traps. Then he walked the length of his train to Marseille. It wasn’t the high-speed train he’d caught from Naples, but the windows were large and he could see clearly into the cabins. At his carriage, he clocked the fold-out yellow signs saying that the train was being cleaned, but he noticed Jim and a middle-aged man in a dark suit waiting for him inside the carriage. Philippe Manerie looked over the tops of his spectacles through the window. No expression, no mannerisms. A blank slate. A perfect DGS executive. De Payns recognised the face because he’d seen it across the office and in official biographies. But he’d only met him once before, a long time ago, on a night flight into Mitrovica, when de Payns was flying TBM 700s into northern Kosovo. The face that now stared back had once been his passenger, surrounded by people who looked like Jim.

De Payns boarded the train and walked to his seat. Manerie was seated directly across the aisle and Jim in the seat behind de Payns’.

‘Aguilar,’ said Manerie. The director leaned over and offered his hand. ‘Philippe Manerie.’

De Payns shook. ‘Director.’

‘Excuse the cloak and dagger; I don’t make a habit of it.’

De Payns smiled. He knew Manerie’s reputation for surprise meetings and interventions. He was nicknamed Jack, because he sprung up like Jack-dans-la boîte. He was dressed like an accountant but carried menace like a waft of aftershave. If even some of the rumours about his special forces career were true, he was not someone to be played with.

‘I hear Falcon wasn’t completed,’ said Manerie, his face trying to make a smile. Like de Payns, he had the blue eyes and high cheekbones of the northern French.

De Payns shrugged. ‘Not sure I know what you’re talking about.’

Jim snorted and Manerie turned and looked at his henchman with a smile. ‘I told you he was solid, non?’

‘Oui,’ said Jim, genuinely amused.