‘I’ve noticed that,’ Jacob says, smiling cautiously. ‘You just disappear. Even from me.’

Yassim nods. ‘It’s necessary. They see everything. There are no secrets unless you’re very strict and share them only with those you trust.’

Jacob doesn’t look away. Am I one of them now? he thinks. Am I one of the people Yassim trusts?

‘That includes you and me, too,’ Yassim says. ‘I said from the beginning that it’s too dangerous, we have to be ghosts, that you were far too big a risk. But when we met… When we sat there in the garden… every time since then. We’re human – how could we deny ourselves everything?’

‘We can’t,’ Jacob whispers. He runs a hand over Yassim’s stubble, feels him leaning into that hand.

‘I thought we’d been so careful,’ Yassim continues. ‘But they must have been following me from the beginning. And now…’

‘What?’ Jacob whispers.

‘Now I have to disappear again,’ Yassim says. ‘And I have to find a way to get the material out.’

He takes his phone from his pocket and opens The Guardian’s website. Jacob looks at the screen.

Hundreds have been injured in a series of terrorist attacks in Paris, the article reads.

The shock comes in a new wave and he grabs the phone. There were separate terrorist attacks at the French National Arena and in a rock club in central Paris. The situation is unclear and still ongoing. He totally missed it because he was with Yassim and didn’t look at his own phone once during the night.

‘Did you know…’ he begins. ‘Did you know about this?’

Yassim looks at him with those hard, black eyes. ‘She’s really done a number on you, that spy.’ But Yassim turns his face away, as if he can’t meet his eyes, and Jacob sets down his phone and puts his hands on Yassim’s face.

‘I don’t know what to believe,’ he says. ‘I don’t fucking know anything any more.’

‘Of course I’m as disturbed by this as anyone else,’ Yassim says quietly and unambiguously. ‘I saw a news flash about it on my phone earlier, but I didn’t want to ruin our evening. I… didn’t realize how big it was.’

Jacob looks at him again, tears in his eyes. There’s something in Yassim’s eyes now, something else. Something darker and deeper.

‘I can’t explain it now,’ he says. ‘But it’s more important than ever to get this information out of the Middle East now. I don’t trust anyone here. Not in the media or the diplomats. Everyone is a spy here. Everyone has their own agenda, their own angle.’