‘Guatemala,’ he said, tasting each syllable and pulling a face. ‘Not your remit. Not your area. Not mine. Not, may I add, very much of your business, my dear.’

I’d been in the Service for fifteen years. I’d proven my mettle, my quickness and my gift for tradecraft. But I still hadn’t learned much in the way of diplomacy. I hadn’t ever really learned to play the game. I still had that naïve belief that those who didn’t agree with me simply hadn’t understood what I was trying to tell them. So I tried explaining myself again, my manner becoming more animated, my tone more earnest – completely failing to notice the change in the colour of his cheeks or the vein in his temple that began to twitch the longer I spoke.

‘There’s no room for doubt, sir. These incidents are happening almost daily. The Americans are not just turning a blind eye to genocide, they’re actively funding it, enabling it and demanding our complicity. If the minister were made aware, then at the very least there would have to be questions asked. We are being asked to look the other way while a silent genocide is carried out on the doorstep of a colony we have given our word to protect …’

He laughed at me. A proper bark: one harsh syllable flecked with tobacco and spit. His features split into something that wasn’t just contempt but open disgust. He seemed as though he was trying not to throw something delicate at a wall.

‘If the minister knew?’ he asked, dripping scorn. ‘Good God my girl, do you think he isn’t aware? Do you not think the prime minister is painfully clued-in on the reality of the situation? Do you think that this is the first we are hearing of these unfortunate allegations?’

‘Unfortunate?’ I asked, unable to help myself. ‘The Kaibiles are wiping out whole villages. Thousands of people … entire communities …’

‘Your idea of community and mine are clearly not in alignment,’ he scoffed, turning away and returning to his chair. He had a strange way of walking, stiff-backed and his legs barely bending. It was like watching a mannequin on invisible strings. He folded himself back into his chair, licking his wet lips and muttering to himself. He fiddled in his pocket and produced another cigarette. Lit it from the stump of his last one. I took a deep swallow of the brandy. It burned. Cheap stuff in a crystal decanter, just like the rest of us.