‘Take one,’ Parfit ordered. ‘Delivery men around here all seem to chew gum.’

Dreyfuss took the stick, unwrapped it and folded it into his mouth. Parfit did the same, then popped the tube back into his overall pocket. He was checking in his wing mirrors. There was a car following them, but that was okay – it was from the embassy, and would stay with them for the next few miles until they could be sure no one else was on their tail. Until then, they were due to drive around – not too fast, not too slow, just driving – as though between destinations. When Parfit was satisfied, they would head out to the airport, where another car filled with his men would be waiting, watching to see that they made it to the terminal building without incident. He had arranged for two more men to be posted inside the terminal building itself, but after that, once they had headed into the departure lounge, they were on their own.

‘You seem to have plenty of men at your disposal,’ Dreyfuss had said when told the plan.

‘I’m using just about every member of staff the embassy has,’ Parfit had replied, smiling. ‘When Johnnie finds out, he’ll be livid. The embassy’s going to be deserted apart from himself and a few typists. I reckon our need might be greater than his.’

Dreyfuss tried not to think about it, but found himself thinking of nothing else. His mouth was dry, and the gum wasn’t helping. He wanted to return to Britain, of course he did. But somehow the more plans Parfit concocted to make sure they would do so safely, the more worried Dreyfuss became, for if these precautions were necessary, surely the danger must be necessarily as great? Yet Parfit carried no gun, no weapon of any kind. A weak man needs a weapon, he had once told Dreyfuss. In that case, Dreyfuss thought now, I must be weak as a deathbed grandmother. For the thought of a very large gun was all that seemed to soothe him just at the moment.

‘Relax,’ Parfit said; it sounded like another command. ‘We’re only delivery men, just driving around doing our job. We don’t need to look so tense or grip the seat like that.’

Dreyfuss looked down and saw that his hands were indeed clenching either side of his seat, the knuckles white. He loosened them and folded his arms instead.

‘You still look tense,’ Parfit said.

‘That’s because I am tense, for Christ’s sake. If I try to let my arms hang down, I just know I’ll end up waving them wildly and screaming to be let out of here.’

Parfit laughed. Dreyfuss wasn’t sure he had heard him laugh before, and found the sound strangely reassuring.

They drove in silence for a while, until they were crossing the Potomac River.