They stopped to relieve themselves and de Payns gasped as he twisted out of the car.
‘You injured?’ asked Templar.
‘Still have shoulder pain since I sparred with Shrek.’
‘Everyone gets beaten up by Shrek.’ Templar laughed. ‘How is he, by the way?’
De Payns shrugged, zipped and sat on the Passat bonnet while Templar finished.
Templar said over his shoulder, ‘I mean, you and him—I don’t see you together anymore.’
‘He’s working on something,’ said de Payns, unsure if Templar was indoctrinated in Shrek’s trip to Palermo.
‘With Frasier?’
De Payns pricked up his ears. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘I saw them together at the Cat.’
De Payns mulled on that.
‘You okay?’ asked Templar.
‘Falcon,’ he said. ‘Ever wonder why it went like that?’
‘Only forty times a day,’ said Templar, zipping up and fishing a pack of smokes from his pocket as he walked to the car. He paused as he realised what de Payns was saying. ‘Oh, man. It wasn’t Shrek. No way!’
‘You know I was approached by Manerie?’ asked de Payns. ‘He wanted information on what happened in Palermo. Lots of talk about a mole.’
‘Manerie’s investigating Falcon? I thought they’d throw it to someone under him?’
‘I know—so Manerie tries to implicate Shrek, and now Shrek has been acting strange.’
‘Manerie is investigating Shrek? For Falcon? Why?’
De Payns lit a smoke. ‘I don’t know. He keeps cornering me with that gorilla Jim Valley.’
Templar nodded. ‘He has something over you?’
‘Yes, and it’s not money. I failed to declare a meeting.’
‘And he has photos?’
De Payns laughed. ‘Sure does. Gotta love those DGS guys.’
‘So how does Shrek get into this?’
De Payns thought about it. ‘He insinuates that maybe I don’t know him as well as I think. He reminds me that Shrek was the one with me on the ferry from Sardinia, and the one with me at Bar Luca. Shrek was around the passports, and he was close to the money.’
‘So were you,’ Templar pointed out.
‘I know. But Manerie is most interested in the Company’s conclusions on Falcon.’
‘And you told him?’
‘No, I deflect. I tell him that Briffaut has my report and the support team’s briefing, but Briffaut hasn’t shown me his report, which has gone to Frasier, and Frasier hasn’t finalised.’
‘Why doesn’t Manerie just ask Briffaut?’
They looked at each other for a second too long. Templar was the first to break. ‘Don’t you dare. Not Briffaut!’
De Payns jumped off the car’s bonnet and walked in a circle. ‘I know it can’t be Briffaut—yet there we were in Islamabad, in the mouth of the wolf, and Dr Death gets a phone call talking about Aguilar and the Company.’
Templar nodded. ‘So if it’s not me or you, not Shrek and not Briffaut …’
‘Brent knew some of the details,’ said de Payns.
Templar shook his head and a convoy of two trucks motored past. ‘Brent’s one of us. His grandmother’s sister was tortured to death by the Gestapo for feeding Allied airmen. He’s solid.’
De Payns kept pacing, a thought forming.
‘What’s up?’ asked Templar, his tone changing. ‘Your face tells me trouble.’
‘We thought the tourniquet would be timed for between eight-thirty and nine,’ said de Payns. ‘The end of the dinner date.’
‘And that’s what we were set up for, but you came out early,’ said Templar. ‘Very early.’
‘I know. When I was coming down those stairs I was praying your team was ready.’
‘So?’
‘So whoever made that call to Dr Death knew my schedule.’
Templar completed the thought. ‘They timed the call thinking you’d still be sitting there at dinner with Timberwolf. What are we dealing with?’
‘Someone who wants the Falcon team wiped off the board,’ said de Payns.
They came over a hill and the pale lights of Gardez lay in front of them. Afghan towns didn’t leave their electricity running all night like they did in Europe. There was a small camp of Afghan soldiers and armoured four-wheeler military vehicles on a spur to the side of the road, but they weren’t running a checkpoint and the Frenchmen drove through.
‘There’s a twenty-four-hour service station on the other side of the town,’ said Templar. ‘Tank there and I’ll get moving.’
‘You got money?’
‘Enough.’
De Payns pulled a swag of US notes and euros from his pocket and gave five hundred US dollars to his friend.
‘You haven’t told me about the ISI,’ said de Payns. ‘Who came for me?’
‘Two professionals on foot, one sub and a car,’ said Templar. ‘Timberwolf took the call and was straight on to you. We were fucked.’
‘Why didn’t they grab me off the street?’
‘Maybe he didn’t want to lose face in front of his sister? Or maybe he was going to scare you, and just bank the favour.’
‘Bank it?’
‘You know what these people are like,’ said Templar. ‘At some point he’ll want to be rescued by France; you’ll be called out to Évreux one day and he’ll be sitting in a cell saying, Remember me? I did you a favour once, now you do me one.’
De Payns smiled at the assumption of French goodwill. In his first year at the Company, he’d been part of a team that brought a Syrian opposition politician to Paris. The Syrian was going to give the Company all the inside information on the Assad regime, and France would get his family out, give them citizenship and donate eight hundred thousand euros to his party. When it became apparent that the politician was just jockeying for position and trying to destroy his rivals with unfounded gossip, the Cat decided to cut him loose and de Payns was instructed to deal with him. He drove the Syrian to a busy intersection in Paris, handed him the attaché case with the promised money, and told him to get out.
‘But where is my family?’ asked the man.
‘That’s your problem,’ said de Payns.
‘But I’m a dead man without protection,’ said the panicking politician. ‘I’ve just betrayed half the politicians and generals in Assad’s regime.’
‘That’s your problem,’ de Payns had repeated, leaning across him and opening the door.
The Syrian was found floating in the Seine ten days later. The Company was testing de Payns and he passed. There would be no quid pro quo for Timberwolf if he ever turned up asking for favours. France didn’t work that way.
After the call from his associate, the Doctor nodded at his henchmen. ‘Follow him to the hotel, but wait,’ he said. ‘Let’s see who is working with him. No point in removing the cheese when we can also catch the mice.’
As he got into the Mercedes, his sister ran out from the building. ‘How dare you, Yousef! How dare you come into my home and talk to my friend like that! And you wonder why I live in Europe?’
‘Go back inside,’ said Yousef, as kindly as he could. ‘It’s not your fault.’
‘I know it’s not my fault,’ said Anoush, her pretty face flushing with indignation. ‘It’s your fault.’
As the Frenchman disappeared into the darkness of the evening, Yousef explained, ‘You weren’t to know that this man is no good. These Westerners see a married woman without her husband, and’—he shrugged—‘for them it’s a game.’
He willed her to go back inside, to avoid saying anything that would require him to escalate the situation. He’d suspected something was amiss before meeting the Frank but he’d wanted to deal with Anoush’s indiscretion without making it the business of the state.
‘It’s time you were in bed,’ he suggested, but he could see immediately it was the wrong thing to say.
‘I’m not yours to order around, Yousef Bijar!’ she shrieked. ‘I’m my father’s daughter, remember that.’
‘How could I forget?’ replied the Doctor. ‘Still, it’s best you were inside right now rather than out on the street.’
He could see her anger rising, and even though most members of his security detail were now following the spy, his driver and bodyguard were looking at his loud-mouthed sister.
‘If anyone is to blame, it’s me, not him,’ she said.
‘Inside. Now!’ he ordered.
‘I told him about your work and your position, building you up as a great man even though the world is disgusted by what you do.’
A young family scuttled past on the other side of the street, trying to pretend they’d heard nothing.
The Doctor lowered his voice. ‘Last chance, sister. Get inside.’
‘You could have been a great man, Yousef, but you can’t talk about what you do in that place, can you? Now why is that exactly?’
He wanted to have it out with her, to damn her for adopting the soft Western ways of their father, while their mother and aunt were forced to endure the lonely hell of their forgotten history. He wanted to tell her that the maternal side of their family contained greatness and perseverance, and the French corporation had taken that from them. It was an injury that they all should have borne together, but Anoush and their father were too busy with their decadent boats and secret drinking. But he held back—his sister already knew what he thought.
He climbed into the Mercedes and shut the door. Anoush had done it again—had put him in the situation of having to choose between Pakistan’s security and the welfare of his own sister. He breathed deeply, aware of the ISI man watching him in the rear-view mirror. The decision he had to make now was easier given the decision he’d made seven years ago, when his father had asked too many questions and made the mistake of judging him. His father had subsequently died from an unexpected ‘heart attack’. Now Yousef had to decide about Anoush.
He thought of his youth, growing up alongside his gregarious little sister. The holidays in which Anoush and their father had skied and sailed, while Yousef looked for a quiet place to read a book. Being the clever one of the family wasn’t easy. Being the one to uphold the honour of his family—to avenge the losses they had suffered—was never going to make him popular. But that was his role.
He keyed his phone and watched the number connect as Anoush stormed back into her apartment building.
‘Colonel,’ he said into the phone, ‘we have a security situation.’