Fifty-nine

At Globalcom headquarters, Patricia Ross copied the dossiers, and sent them to WikiLeaks, with an embargo until ten p.m. GMT.

Then she sent them to every newshound she could think of – in Morocco and abroad.

After that, she hurried upstairs to the newsroom and cornered Adam Binbin, the only editor she could completely trust.

‘What have you got on the line-up tonight?’

Binbin logged on, skimming the schedule as he stirred his tea.

‘A Chinese student’s been murdered downtown – it’s a suspected robbery gone wrong. Then some political stuff and a whole lot of sport – the opium of the people.’

‘I need to ask a favour, a big favour,’ said Ross, touching a hand to the back of her head.

Binbin took a sip of the tea, picked another sugar-lump from the saucer and dropped it in.

‘I’ve got a huge story that has to go out... tonight.’

‘Bigger than a murdered tourist?’

Ross leaned in close.

‘This is as big as it gets,’ she said.