There was a time in his career when de Payns would have buckled under if Manerie cornered him and forced him into fealty. Even he was surprised that he’d stonewalled the DGS man on Falcon. De Payns was a product of France’s elite boarding school system and the French air force. His grandfather was one of the first to join de Gaulle’s Free French Forces when de Gaulle was trapped in London, trying to keep Free France alive. He understood chains of command and narrowly held information. The fact he’d quoted the rule book at a person who could destroy his career and make him unemployable gave him a sense of empowerment and also unease. He was right not to acknowledge Falcon to an outsider, but it was the wrong person to withhold information from.

The Airbus banked over the southern reaches of Paris and lined up for landing, on time for the 12.30 arrival from Marseille. He’d been jittery in that city, which was unusual since he’d spent so much of his DGSE training there. Marseille now felt too much like Palermo—just another dangerous Mediterranean city with all those small lanes, grand boulevards and thousands of windows and balconies hiding an army of watchers. By the time he’d left the train at Marseille Provence Airport he was on the verge of a blue rats episode, where a spy sees only watchers and senses only followers. Every person on the street—from kids playing to the oldest grandmother—could be part of the game. To fight it, he’d resisted doing any more IS routes, no more ruptures.