It was a foretaste of what lay ahead. There had been no sign of the DGSE agent who had followed him in his car the day before, but it was good to put others on alert. The French had always spied on the British in London, but it wasn’t usually so obvious. It was something he would have to get used to as Chief. After pouring himself a glass of Fleur de Boüard, he thought of what he was about to do. It wasn’t without risk, but tonight was a celebration, a chance to mark his promotion. Besides, the damage had already been done. This time he was sure he was alone. His house had been swept for bugs the day before, partly in response to the French tail, but also as a routine precaution for an incoming Chief. He had planned to eat first, but he realised he could wait no longer. Hunger would sharpen his senses. He closed the curtains in the sitting room, checked that the reinforced front door was double locked, and walked into the kitchen. The freezer was well stocked with bags of ice cubes, and he took out a packet, weighing it in his hand.
