The prime minister had been dragged into another scandal that was unfolding with speed and force across the Atlantic in New York. Last night, a hedge-fund mogul called Malcolm Glass had been found dead in his Manhattan apartment having taken a lethal overdose of sleeping pills. Shortly after his maid had reported his death, the FBI confirmed it had been investigating him for many months for sex trafficking, including of minors, solicitation and a whole swathe of other offences.

The rolling news channels were already referring to him as the paedophile billionaire. But there was more. Early that morning, the FBI had added further details of what it had discovered in Malcolm Glass’s New York apartment, which included videotapes of a number of rich and powerful people having massages and sexual contact of various descriptions with underage girls who had been trafficked to Glass’s private Caribbean island – Paedophile Island, as it was already being dubbed – for that express purpose. And while the FBI was careful to underline that he had not been caught on video, they did confirm that Glass’s records suggested that the current British prime minister, James Ryan, had been a guest on the island three years before, during his time as foreign secretary. He’d been flown there on Malcolm Glass’s private plane at the end of an official visit to Jamaica.

‘So what does this mean?’ Julie asked, gesturing at the TV screen. Callum was next to her, sitting on the desk with his enormous feet on a chair.

‘Nothing,’ Kate said.

‘It has to mean something.’ Kate went to sit down. Julie came with her. ‘I’ve tracked down the Czech girl Ian was screwing in New York. She still works for Czech intelligence, though I’m not sure of her role. She’s back in Prague. I got her mobile number.’

‘How?’ Kate asked.

‘The Americans. I tried Jason Snipe at Langley, which I thought was easier than alerting anyone in Vauxhall.’

‘What reason did you give?’

‘I didn’t. I said it was a routine enquiry. He gave me something else too. They’ve long had her down as a probable Russian double agent within the Czech service.’

Callum whistled quietly. ‘That sounds pretty big, doesn’t it?’ They turned towards him. ‘There are just too many things stacking up against Ian for comfort.’

Kate’s phone was ringing. She glanced at the caller ID and decided to ignore it. The last person she needed to hear from right now was Imogen Conrad, the current foreign secretary, Stuart’s former boss – and lover.

But Imogen kept calling. And Kate thought it better to put her off the scent by answering before she contacted SIS and demanded to know where she was. Kate had not spoken to her since she’d left the Service.

‘Imogen, it’s been a while,’ she said.

‘Yes, sorry about that.’

‘I can’t imagine why you’re calling.’

‘This is it, Kate. It’s one thing too many. The Party won’t stand for it. He’s done for.’

‘We’ve said that before.’