I finally save the spreadsheet I’ve been using to keep track of this shit, mutter “bingo” quietly, and email Pete and Andy, inviting them to an impromptu team-building exercise in the Turk’s Head round the corner. Trebles all round: I’ve found what I’m looking for.

• • •

MEANWHILE, IN ANOTHER OFFICE, A MEETING IS TAKING PLACE. And I haven’t been invited to it, or even informed of it. Even though I’m the subject.

Mahogany Row in the New Annex lacks the plush nineteenth-century gentleman’s club ambiance of the original, but it’s still a step up from our regular offices (both figuratively and literally: it’s on the top floor). It has thicker carpets and nicer bathrooms. There are no cubicles, and some of the offices have outer vestibules for the executive PAs. However, the New Annex was built in the 1970s, so it lacks a whole bunch of modern conveniences we grunts take for granted. Who’d spec out a desk with a blotter and a rotary-dial telephone but no power and network points for laptops, or even electric typewriters?

Nevertheless. Sometimes it’s a good idea to have an office that is discreetly shielded—no outside windows, no electrical appliances except the carefully checked overhead lights, and Faraday shielding hidden behind the Laura Ashley wallpaper. And it’s in one of these offices that a conclave of old monsters are having an informal chat.

“Are we secure?” asks Lockhart.

“Yes.” Angleton laces his fingers together and looks at the third man present, who nods mildly. This worthy is the Senior Auditor, and the mere idea that he might be taking an interest in my affairs—well, it’s a good thing I have no idea about this meeting, or I’d be hiding under Spooky’s litter tray and gibbering instead of dragging Pete and Andy off for a wee celebratory bevvy down the pub. Ignorance, as they say, is bliss. Neither the Auditor nor Lockhart bother to ask just how Angleton knows they are secure: some capabilities are simply trusted to exist.

“What’s the latest news, then?” asks the Senior Auditor. With his silver hair, gray suit, and half-moon reading glasses he could pass for a distinguished partner in a law or accountancy firm. But even the likes of Angleton and Lockhart are slightly on edge in his presence.

“Hmm.” Lockhart glances sidelong at Angleton.

“Well.” Angleton grins—an expression strangely at home on his sallow face, but rarely seen by the likes of me. “I had to give the lad a nudge, Gerry. But I think he’s probably working along the right lines now.” The grin vanishes abruptly. “He appeared to be distracted.”

“Hmm.” Lockhart glances down at the day planner in his lap. “Well, that’s not surprising. Unfortunately Agent CANDID may be becoming a stability issue, and he’d be the first to know. That business out east: shocking.”