Working with an ally could be difficult. While he could simply ignore the laws of a country with which the US had no official agreement, in a place like Australia he and Mav were supposed to adhere to the local rules. Apparently, Australia had a long list of don’ts when it came to dealing with suspected terrorists: sleep deprivation, waterboarding, electrocution and even heavy-metal music were among the most fucking definitely do not. He’d had plenty of time to plough through ASIO protocols as he flew from Mexico City to Los Angeles, Los Angeles to Sydney and, finally, Sydney to Canberra. Twenty-nine hours in total.

Mav sighed, and rolled his eyes.

‘I’m serious,’ said Sami. ‘You don’t tell them anything without checking with me first. You certainly don’t start giving out orders.’

Mav sighed again but gave a small nod of acceptance. ‘Yeah, boss, got it.’

The government car made its way through a number of checkpoints and finally dropped them in front of the Ben Chifley Building, where they’d been told someone would be waiting for them. Although its sleek, curved design was certainly striking, Sami noted it was postage-stamp sized compared with their headquarters back home.

Wanting to lighten the mood after his pep talk, Sami looked around, then turned to Mav. ‘Look out for kangaroos!’ he said, laughing. ‘Though I don’t think they’re just jumping around cities, to be fair.’

Mav looked unimpressed by his attempt at humour. Always too cool for school, that Mav, Sami thought.

The chief of the Oceanic Bureau, CIA Agent Ford Roberts, was waiting for them in the foyer. Bald, sun-beaten and slightly hunched, he stood in front of the two-factor-authenticated security gates, looking like he was in desperate need of a chair.

‘Is that Rupert Murdoch?’ Maverick joked, loudly.

‘Shhh!’ Sami said, choking back a laugh. ‘You’ll get us both deported.’

The CIA had only a token base in Australia – its only real interest there was in monitoring Chinese criminals who used Australia as an offshore bank. Sami suspected Roberts had been sent to Canberra as part of a retirement plan. Judging from his tan, he probably spent most of his days sitting on the beach. Sami suspected that Agent Roberts would be about as much help as the Australians would be on the Church Bombings. Unless he needed a beach towel.

CLARKE sat alone in the briefing room, a glass of water next to his colour-coded files. The red file on top was labelled ‘Project Mnemonist’. He’d been holed up in the Ben Chifley Building for the last two days, grabbing sleep here and there, just an hour or two on the office couch when he could no longer read the words on his computer screen.