Sensing his hesitancy, Isobel continued. ‘You see, Patrick, I personally have spent time with Kareem. I can see inside him. That is my job. Particularly as I will be his handler; I would not contemplate it unless I was sure.’

Patrick hoped J would interrogate her further. He didn’t. The show was moving on. ‘This contract,’ said J.

‘Yes,’ said Patrick. ‘It’s ridiculous.’

J smiled gently. ‘Is this the way to represent your client?’

‘Precisely,’ agreed Isobel without sharing the smile. ‘If he wants this so-called contract, I have no issue with that.’

‘He won’t accept it unless it’s a genuine contract of employment. And he didn’t seem amenable to negotiation on the terms.’

‘That’s better,’ said J, ‘your client would be proud of you.’

‘It will have to be signed by a senior officer of MI5. Including his so-called indemnities.’

‘It cannot be with MI5,’ said Isobel. ‘For reasons of security.’

Patrick asked himself what reasons but, again, judged it best not to question her. ‘Then with whom?’ he asked instead.

‘That’s really a matter for government lawyers,’ she replied. ‘I’d imagine you’d want to oversee any employment contract in circumstances as unusual as this.’

‘Perhaps I should speak to my boss,’ suggested Patrick.

‘Perhaps you should.’ She turned to J, smiling sweetly. ‘Shall we leave Patrick to make his call?’

‘What did you do?’ asked Sara. She had finished the banana but a rubbery remnant of the sandwich remained on her plate, curling slightly at the edges.

‘I phoned Keith Barron,’ said Patrick.

‘Remind me—’

‘Head of the Treasury Solicitors, as they were then. He answered immediately. I had a sense this was all pre-arranged. I was just a cog in an engine that was purring smoothly towards an agreed destination.’

‘What did he say?’

‘I reported my conversation with Kareem and his various demands. Barron chuckled and said “cheeky bastard” or something. I think I said, yes, he’s some piece of work. Then I asked him about the contract. He said, “Well, Five seem very keen on it so I guess we should oblige them.” I couldn’t believe he was so nonchalant. Presumably he didn’t think it worth the paper it was written on. “Who’s going to draw it up?” I asked. “You’re our man on the spot, Patrick.” “What about signing it?” “Same goes. You have my unqualified approval.”’

‘What?’ Sara’s interruption cut through the canteen’s buzz of refrigeration and strip lights. A couple of mournful faces looked round. She lowered her voice. ‘Sorry, it just seems so – what’s the word? – cavalier.’

‘I guess lies were just one of the currencies in play,’ said Patrick. ‘Those imaginary Saddam Hussein weapons of mass destruction hadn’t been finally exposed. I didn’t know what to say, it all seemed so surreal.’

‘What next?’