‘You think so?’ Mavers was smiling. ‘You’re as misguided as you are naive. I’d have thought with a boyfriend in the Agency you’d have understood just how the world works, but then again perhaps his pillow talk kept to the script.’

‘What the fuck are you talking about?’

‘You’ve been played, Rebecca.’ Silva’s father was shaking his head. ‘Sean must be in on it. He’s sold you out.’

Her father spoke softly, but she felt the fury in his words. It was as if he was the one who’d been betrayed. She felt light-headed, giddy. ‘Sean, he wouldn’t—’

‘Enough!’ Mavers raised a hand. ‘We’re leaving.’ He motioned at the man with the gun and then pointed at Silva’s father. ‘Make sure he can’t get free. You’re with me, Rebecca.’

Mavers gestured at the door and for one moment Silva wondered if, alone with Mavers, she could escape. Her hopes were dashed when they encountered another man in the corridor. Like the first grunt, he had a gun.

‘After you,’ Mavers said. ‘And no tricks, no funny stuff.’

They went downstairs and outside. Parked round the side of the house there was a silver Ford van with diplomatic plates. Mavers slid the rear door open and the grunt pushed Silva in. Mavers stood by the door and glanced at his watch. Minutes ticked by.

‘What’s going on?’ Silva said. ‘What are we waiting for?’

‘That.’ Mavers turned his head and peered back at the house. The second grunt ran from the front door and down the steps. A high pitched repetitive beeping pierced the air. ‘Now we go.’

The grunt jumped into the van and started the engine. Silva strained to see what was going on. There was a glow from one of the downstairs windows. Yellow and orange light flickering. The shrillness of the smoke alarm over the crackle of flame.

‘No!’ Silva shouted. She leapt forward, trying to make for the door before Mavers could slam it shut.

The man in the back raised his gun, turning the weapon so he could bring the handle down on Silva’s head. Once. Twice. Three times.

Then nothing.

She woke to a moving light. A single bulb hanging from a piece of wire in the ceiling. A draught from somewhere moved the bulb and the arc of its shadow crept over the walls and swept her face. Silva rolled over, aware of a throbbing at the side of her head and a sensation of stickiness round her left eye. She raised a hand and a scab of dried blood fell away. The light bulb swung and flickered and she was remembering the fire.