Templar and Danny had done their best to create a comfortable nest in the back of the Camry, but de Payns felt every small bump and the road noise roared in his ears. After five minutes in the trunk he decided to get comfortable and try to relax. He ate an apple and drank bottled water. There was a faint trickle of fresh air from somewhere, but no clues about direction or route.
He went through his usual checklist at the end of an operation. What did he do wrong? Who could identify him? Was the operation a success?
The last question was easily answered. Dr Yousef Bijar—chief scientist at Pakistan’s foremost bioweapons facility—was not going to provide access to the MERC. He was not cooperative, he would not be manipulated. He may have been brilliant but he was also a terrible human being and possibly a bit mad. The Company training had covered the basics of psychology and, in particular, extreme personalities. These people—whom de Payns had to understand well enough to befriend, manipulate and leverage—were often possessed of very strong intellects and intense personalities that could inspire a following. But they were often lonely, isolated, crushingly insecure, petty and vindictive. Their surfeit of confidence often came with life-altering paranoia, and their success was tempered with depravity. Timberwolf’s revelation about why he didn’t have children was chilling. De Payns had dealt with some terrible people in his time at the Company, but Timberwolf was unique—the first self-aware sociopath and science-criminal he had met. Most scientists and engineers who worked on weapons of mass destruction tried to justify themselves, claiming that their heightened intellect put them above morality, or that their inventions couldn’t be understood by normal people lacking their education. Even the scientists turned to working for France often clung to their delusions. But Timberwolf simply told him outright that he’d never bring children into a world where people like him were on the loose. De Payns could never prove it, but he had the strong impression that Timberwolf had guessed that the Frenchman opposite him had children. It was a deliberate provocation, guaranteed to haunt the parent who had to hear it.
What had de Payns done wrong? There wasn’t a list of mistakes to go over. France wanted access to the MERC, and they’d taken their best shot. They could have waited another month, another six months, another year. More intelligence, more reconnaissance and closer relations with Raven. And still they’d have run into Timberwolf, regardless of how long they delayed the contact.
Could anyone identify him? de Payns wondered. The answer was yes—Timberwolf, at least four bodyguards and his followers from the hotel had all seen de Payns up close, which was unfortunate but it was one of the drawbacks of ‘contact’. One thing was certain—de Payns would not return to the apartment in Montparnasse until he’d been thoroughly sanitised. The fate of Amin still haunted him—he would not bring the ISI to his family.
The final question was the fate of Raven. De Payns had to shake that thought from his head. He had a lot of problems to deal with before he could worry about an adversary.
He rose three centimetres in the air and woke as he thumped down on the yoga mat. De Payns gasped, for a split second not knowing where he was. The darkness was intense and he wiped saliva from the side of his face. He must have been in a deep sleep but now the Toyota had slowed and, judging by the heavy bumps and gravel noise beneath the car, they were off the tarmac. He looked at his watch: 11.45 a.m.
The car came to a stop, and Templar’s voice conferred with what sounded like an official. He spoke in a mix of English, French and Urdu and there seemed to be a lot of agreeing going on. De Payns assumed they were at a border. Templar was good at borders and they cleared this one in record time. They’d been in the car long enough to get him into India or Afghanistan, thought de Payns. It was normal security procedure for the person in Templar’s position to design an emergency exfiltration and not tell the rest of the team the details.
Ninety minutes later the Camry stopped, reversed, and then the engine was switched off. The silence was beautiful and de Payns’ bones were thankful for the respite. He strained his ears, listening for an aircraft or the sounds of a harbour, but all he could hear was Templar’s voice through the rear seat bulkhead.
‘Aguilar, hold tight, vieux frère,’ he said. ‘We’re switching cars, and when that’s done you’ll be riding up front, okay?’
‘Okay,’ said de Payns.
He lay in the blackness, revelling in the quiet, and now knowing that the exfil was a cross-country drive, not a plane or a boat. He found the other apple, ate it, and then devoured one of the muesli bars, which contained bits of dried apricot and chocolate chips.
After fifteen minutes, during which Templar and Danny fiddled with the radio and laughed at the local pop music being played, de Payns heard a car engine. It got closer until it was right beside the Camry. Doors opened, there was a conversation. The Camry sagged with weight on the driver’s side and Templar said, ‘We’ll have you out soon. Danny’s checking our new car.’
Then the trunk latch popped and Templar’s arm was clearing away the suitcases and boxes around de Payns. It was dark, no moon.
‘Okay,’ said Templar, and de Payns grabbed his arm and was pulled out of the boot. His legs almost went from under him.
They were in a park by a lake with a small building beside them that looked like public toilets—a picnic area, de Payns thought. There were two cars in the car park—the Camry and a silver Passat parked beside it.
‘Need to go?’ asked Templar, pointing at the building. ‘Make it quick, I want to get moving.’
The Camry rolled out, Danny driving and another man in the front seat, leaving the silver Passat.
‘Where’s Danny going?’ asked de Payns, walking to the toilet.
‘He’s got his own route. It’s just you and me.’