The skies opened as the pedestrian lights turned green to allow them over the bus lanes and carriageways, Sara protecting her head and scarf with her coat. Inside they dumped their bags and coats on a corner table at the back, furthest away from the counter. Sara settled, watching the onslaught of rain.

‘Not as good as mine at the office,’ said Patrick, returning with coffees. He forced a smile as he set plastic cups on the table.

She didn’t move, eyes apparently magnetised by the downpour. ‘He gave you a transcript,’ she murmured.

‘Yes.’

‘Sayyid gave Morahan just the recording.’

‘Less bulky. Or he couldn’t access it.’

She thought. ‘Or because what mattered was that he listened to the voices.’ Silence as the depth of Sayyid’s manipulation of Morahan sank in ever further.

‘Shall we go back to the photograph?’ Patrick asked softly. She nodded her head. ‘I’d no idea it was you. I was never given a name. I didn’t even know of you till now. But yes, according to J, the second woman in the photograph – you – was under surveillance for two months.’

‘No wonder some of us hated them.’

‘But wouldn’t they have asked themselves the obvious question?’ She turned. ‘As I ask myself that question now.’

‘Ask it.’

‘What were you doing there?’

‘Yes. It’s the obvious question. But they could have come and asked me instead of watching me.’

‘Perhaps. But you must see they might have thought you could lead them somewhere.’

She sipped her coffee and moved closer to him.

‘It was a coincidence,’ she said softly. ‘The meeting sounded interesting. I’d no idea he’d be there. He recognised me and I thought it would be rude to refuse the invitation to join him and his friends for dinner.’

‘He recognised you?’

‘Yes.’

‘What about the woman? The one J said was called Maryam, previously Marion.’

‘I hadn’t met her before.’ She paused. ‘I’d heard the name. When she was just Marion.’ She paused. ‘If this part of it ever becomes significant for what we’re doing, I’ll tell you. Right now it isn’t. OK?’

Part of him wanted to test her – how could it possibly not be significant? – but he felt he’d touched some buried grief. It would come in time. ‘Look…’ he said, as if searching for consolation, ‘I was never entirely sure I could believe every word J’s big rich voice uttered. At least it’s better than if you’d been the young Muslim woman helping MI5.’

‘Could you have believed that of me?’

‘Some might see it as patriotic.’

She inspected him, her eyes narrowing harshly. ‘Perhaps you really could.’

‘We were all younger then. Perhaps we all did things.’ He breathed in deeply, a bead of sweat on his normally cool brow. ‘I know I did.’

Chapter 17

17

2005