Two businessmen stood at the bar, slowly smoking cigars, sipping whiskies. They glanced around the room occasionally, looking first at the table of women and then over towards Jilly. They weren’t hopeful; just looking.

‘This is nice,’ Jilly said without much attempt at sincerity.

Then Sanders, who had been the most subdued of the three, almost leapt from his seat, waving frantically towards the door, where Cam Devereux was standing. Devereux saw him and approached the table. Sanders sat down again, looking relieved and more animated again. Devereux squeezed into the booth beside Hepton. He had washed, changed his clothes and combed his hair. He had also had time to think, and was more wary than ever, as his first question showed.

‘Who did you say you were?’

But the waiter was walking briskly in their direction, awaiting Devereux’s order.

‘Glenlivet, plenty of ice,’ Devereux said, just as briskly. When the waiter had gone, he repeated his question. Sanders was about to respond, but Hepton beat him to it.

‘I’m Martin Hepton. This is Jill Watson.’

‘And you both work for the Foreign Office, too?’

‘No,’ said Jilly. ‘We’re friends of Mickey.’

‘Mickey? You mean Mike Dreyfuss? How long have you known him?’

‘Since school,’ Jilly answered.

Devereux nodded slowly. ‘I haven’t known him more than six months,’ he said. ‘But he seemed like a great guy.’

‘No need for the past tense,’ Sanders said. ‘He’s still alive, remember.’

‘Yeah.’ Devereux’s voice was like melting ice. His drink arrived and he gulped at it.

‘This is a nice hotel,’ Sanders noted aloud. ‘It must be costing you a fortune.’

Devereux smiled and looked straight at Sanders as if to say: I know what your game is. ‘I’m not paying for it,’ he admitted. ‘My employers are picking up the tab. Necessary R and R.’

Sanders was relentless. ‘Is it necessary?’

‘Hell, yes,’ Devereux said loudly. ‘You ever see guys you’d gotten to know torched in the blink of an eye? Guys you respected suddenly dead, and all the time they’re dying you think maybe you can do something to help, but you can’t? Jesus!’ His face was red now, and his voice had grown deeper. There was a silence at the table while they waited for him to calm down.

‘Another drink?’ asked Hepton, whose own glass was empty.

‘Look,’ Devereux said, ‘let’s just cut the shit, okay? What do you want?’

Hepton didn’t know quite where to start, but both Jilly and Sanders had turned to him, expecting him to speak. ‘Major Dreyfuss telephoned us,’ he began. ‘He was wondering what you know about the crash.’

‘What’s it to you anyway?’

‘Our lives are in danger,’ Jilly said quickly, ‘and we want to know why. We’re scared.’

Devereux seemed confused. ‘Your lives?’