And she didn’t. All Sean’s words, all his declarations of love, all his talk of a future together, was that a charade? She remembered when he’d called her after her mother’s death. It was the first time they’d been in contact for months. Was the call out of genuine concern or had Karen Hope initiated it? Perhaps Hope had a notion her mother might have a backup plan which involved passing the files to somebody else. The obvious person would be Silva. Get close to her, Sean. Find out what she knows. Silva could imagine Hope intense and passionate, her hand on Sean’s arm. This isn’t about me, it’s about our country’s future. God bless America.

‘Silvi?’

‘I’m going to call him,’ Silva said. ‘I’ll use Fairchild’s burner phone.’

Itchy nodded. They’d both turned their own phones off and removed the batteries so there was no chance of anybody tracking them, but the burner phone was clean. Once she’d made the call she’d ditch it.

Sean answered after a couple of rings, a tentative ‘hello’ to an unrecognised number.

‘It’s me,’ Silva said. ‘Rebecca.’

‘Rebecca!’ Sean’s voice jumped an octave. ‘Where are you?’

‘I’m out and about.’ Silva was already on the defensive. Why would his first words be a question about her location? ‘Just pottering around.’

‘I heard about Neil Milligan. I understand he worked with your mother.’

‘He was murdered, Sean.’

‘I know. Tragic. Wrong place, wrong time.’

Wrong place, wrong time. The same phrase she heard so often about her mother’s death.

There was a pause before Sean continued. ‘You sound like you’re having a hard time. Can we meet up?’

There. The bait. The hook.

‘Sure. I’d like to see you.’ Silva played along. ‘When and where?’

‘Well that depends where you are. I’m in London at the moment but I have to go to Cambridge later today for a trilateral US/UK/Saudi trade summit. After this evening I’m free for a couple of days. Perhaps we could explore Cambridge together.’

‘Cambridge?’

‘Yes. I’ll be at a British military base close by. RAF Wittering. Do you know it?’

‘RAF…?’ Silva nearly dropped the phone. She swallowed. ‘No.’

‘Well, we could meet in Cambridge tomorrow sometime. I’ll book a hotel. Do you want to text me your ETA?’

‘I’ll do that. Got to go. Bye.’ Silva hung up and then took the phone and shoved it into the hedge. ‘Fuck.’

‘Silvi?’ Itchy was standing a little way off. ‘What is it?’

She unzipped her leather jacket. The postcard was in an inner pocket. She pulled it out and passed it to Itchy.