‘We know that the lower-status scientists and technicians live on the campus, but there’s enough traffic in and out of the facility to suggest that the senior people are allowed to leave. That’s who we’re going to identify. That’s how we’re going to access the MERC.’

Brent stretched, ran his fingertips through his slight beard. ‘The technology will work and the plan looks good.’

‘But?’ asked de Payns.

‘If the secret police get serious with us …’ said Brent.

‘Templar has an exfiltration plan,’ said de Payns. ‘We can’t rely on it, though. Our best bet is still plan A—be professional, be fast and leave in one piece.’

Briffaut said little as de Payns ran through the final checklist—the tech was finalised and Templar was in Pakistan, scouting the layout and checking on the hotel. In a full action mission, where illegal activities or building penetration was required, a recon team would go into Islamabad a month before de Payns arrived and the team would do an équipement de ville, responding to the chef de mission’s requests—it might be five ISs, three tourniquets, three plans de supports, one life zone, three hotels and one exfiltration. When the recon team returned, they would detail each item and the action team would have a few weeks to learn them by heart and plan the mission around those elements.

But this mission involved no illegal action, no approach, no recruitment, no house or structure penetration. It was just four of them playing their legends, moving as tourists. Without a mission team or a system of ISs, there was little to coordinate. Everyone had their job and their commitment to being in and out within seven days. It would mean a tight focus on the MERC and insufficient time for the Pakistanis to see patterns in the four-man French team. Theoretically.

‘Emergency exfil?’ asked Briffaut, who turned a stainless steel lighter over on the desk, not taking his eyes off de Payns.

‘Shouldn’t be necessary,’ said de Payns. ‘We’ll play our legend.’

Briffaut nodded. ‘Falcon was a close call.’

‘Palermo was close,’ agreed de Payns.

Briffaut held his stare. ‘You good for this?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘Team all sorted?’

‘They’re sharp and ready.’

Briffaut. ‘So, what’s eating you?’

‘My wife. Her PhD graduation ceremony is on Saturday.’

Briffaut said nothing.

De Payns shrugged. ‘Her parents are in town.’

‘Bad timing and bad luck,’ Briffaut deadpanned. ‘You know how it goes in this job.’

‘I do,’ said de Payns.

‘Good luck,’ said Briffaut, offering his hand. ‘And if it turns weird over there, pull the pin. We good?’

‘We’re good,’ said de Payns.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER

TWENTY-THREE