Days were passing. Dreyfuss felt sure of that, though he slept mostly. Probably because of the drugs they were giving him: the ones he could see, the ones they asked him politely to swallow; and perhaps the ones he couldn’t see, concealed in his drinking water, his meals.

But after his latest bout of unconsciousness, he awoke not to the restorative sight of Nurse Carraway, but to two stern figures, the same men as before, the ones the doctor had named as General Esterhazy and Mr Stewart.

The general was examining the cards attached to the few flowers that had been sent to the invalid.

‘Who’s Jilly, for Christ’s sake?’ he asked the other man, unaware as yet that Dreyfuss’ eyes were opening.

‘Just some woman he knows. They used to date in school apparently.’

God, they know so much about me …

‘He was married, though?’

‘Divorced now. The ex-wife lives somewhere in Australia.’

‘I notice she didn’t send any flowers,’ the general commented, taking pleasure in the fact.

Dreyfuss noted that Stewart seemed subdued, while the general himself was as abrasive in his speech as a grinding tool. Now Stewart had noticed that Dreyfuss’ eyes were opened to slits.

‘General,’ he warned, and both men came to the bed. Dreyfuss could smell salt and something sweeter, an aftershave perhaps. ‘My name’s Frank Stewart,’ said the civilian. ‘I’m from the State Department.’

He’s CIA, Dreyfuss thought. Either that or NSA.

‘And this is—’

‘Jesus Christ, Frank,’ snapped the general, ‘I can make my own introductions, can’t I?’ He turned his eyes to Dreyfuss. The pupils were inky, like staring down the barrel of a pistol. ‘The name’s General Ben Esterhazy.’

Esterhazy, one of the biggest of the cheeses. He had been on a mission to Europe and hadn’t been able to meet with the Argos crew to offer them good luck. Instead, an aide had come to give them the general’s best wishes.

‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Dreyfuss in a voice weak from sleep. In fact, he didn’t feel at all bad, but he didn’t want the hospital thinking he could be moved. He felt safe here, safe from choking hands. And he still had to find out a few things. ‘They’re all dead, aren’t they?’ he asked.

‘Every goddamned one of them,’ Esterhazy said bitterly, while Stewart threw him a look that said he shouldn’t have told Dreyfuss that. Dreyfuss had the feeling there was no love lost between these two men, or between their respective organisations.