‘You will. You must have had enough training to know that not talking isn’t an option. It doesn’t take much for people to spill the beans. I should know, I’m ex-CIA. Been there, done that. So if you thought you were dealing with some pen-pushing diplomat, then I’m afraid you’re mistaken.’

‘You won’t know if I’m lying or not.’

‘Let me explain.’ Mavers tilted his head at the man with the iron bar and rope. ‘We’ll need to investigate everyone you say you’ve told. So lie if you wish, but it’s not going to be pleasant for those you finger because we’ll have to interrogate each and every one of them.’

‘Well, I haven’t told anyone.’

‘You’ve changed your tune, but if that’s true then good. The problem is we need to be sure. The iron bar will help. We can beat you with it. We can break your fingers or smash your kneecaps. We can do other things. Think what it would feel like with that piece of metal inside you. Especially if we heat it up. At the end, we’ll know if you’re telling the truth or not.’

‘You’re going to kill me.’

‘You’re an assassin, Rebecca. You killed Lashirah al Haddad. Sure, you denied it earlier, but I don’t believe you.’ Mavers moved forward. ‘Our friends in Saudi Arabia would like you turned over to them, but I won’t hear of it. Their methods make ours look positively benign. To be honest I’d like nothing better than for you to be taken to the US to face trial, but the issue with that is your mouth. Far better you simply disappear.’

‘Don’t you think there’ll be questions asked? First my mother, then Neil Milligan, then me? Too much of a coincidence.’

‘There are questions asked about the moon landings, about Elvis Presley, about 9/11. Compared to those world events your death will be but a footnote. I really don’t think anyone will be interested.’ Mavers stepped back towards the door, careful not to turn his back. ‘Now, think very carefully about what you are going to tell us when we return, OK?’

Mavers slipped out the door and the two men followed. The door swung shut, the bolts clunked across and the light swung gently in the draught.

Chapter Thirty-One

Holm slept in his own bed for the first time in days, but the following morning he was back in the office with Javed. The lad fired up his computer and his fingers hovered over the keys.

‘If I do a search it will be logged,’ Javed said. ‘The Spider probably has a screen on her wall showing what each of us is googling. Cheap flights, gnocchi recipes, ripped abs, that sort of thing.’