I spotted the tail the moment I hit Boulevard de Sébastopol. The boulevard was a broad four-lane highway flanked by large five-storey buildings and bare-limbed trees that threw spiky black shadows across our path. It sliced through the Second and Third Arrondissements, and I was weaving between lanes, dodging in and out. It took only seconds to pick out the car swerving behind me – a dark sleek Renault Frégate. Faster than mine, but my 4CV could corner on a centime. I watched the glare of its headlamps draw closer.

Who were they?

What were they after?

They must be working a three-car net around me to still be in touch. The buildings were grander here, the roads wider, and beside me André held a small but silent High Standard HDM/S pistol on his knee, his hand rock-steady. My heart was hammering, my own fingers ice-cold but I concentrated on the road ahead. I waited till the last moment, then flipped off to the right. Zipped past the dark looming arches of Les Halles market, and immediately sharp left. The Renault behind me reacted too late and overshot. I released my breath. André uttered a grunt of approval and I made a dash for the Pont Neuf.

We shot across the oldest bridge in Paris, its ranks of tall lampposts throwing a shroud of amber over the fog that was rising from the Seine and swirling around us like layers of old lace. The wide stone bridge was not busy at this late hour, though a ramshackle lorry trundling along ahead of me slowed me down, so I was trapped when a motorbike suddenly roared out of nowhere. I was acutely aware of its single eye fixed on us in the darkness, its rider hidden inside his balaclava. It was swerving up on my passenger side, its engine roaring in my ears when I saw André raise his pistol. Instantly I twitched the steering wheel. Just enough so that my rear wheel clipped the bike. We felt the impact judder through the car, and heard a screech of metal but I didn’t look back. I didn’t care to see the rider sprawled across the pavement or hear the Russian curses he was throwing after me.

I rolled down my window a crack, I needed more air but the fog crept in, carrying the stink of the river with it. I glanced across at André and saw a smile spreading across his face.

‘Well done,’ he said. ‘Turn left here.’

‘No.’ I shook my head. ‘I know a place, a safe place.’