Sending Christine out of that emergency exit by herself was the hardest thing I’d ever had to do. All I wanted to do was keep her close; keep her safe. I had no idea what was waiting for her on the other side of that door, but I had to assume it was going to be safer than a rooftop sniper or a gunman lurking in a hotel kitchen.

I couldn’t believe that she was working on an investigation like this without a weapon. There was no way CIA agents would even think about stepping out of the house without their handgun. Brits were so squeamish about these things. Unarmed, she’d be nothing but a hindrance to me—and I wouldn’t be able to do my job for worrying about where she was and whether she was safe. My only choice was to send her out of the hotel and hope that I could stop worrying about her long enough to deal with whoever had made that noise.

I was beginning to understand why she had been so keen to put some distance between us while we were still working the case. It was distracting to work with someone you cared about; it affected your decision-making, your risk assessment—everything that you needed when you were working in intelligence.

After checking again that my gun was loaded and ready, I moved slowly toward the door; as I approached, I noticed it was one of those swinging doors, and realized I had been right about my kitchen theory.

With a deep breath, I eased the door open a crack and tried to peer in. Nothing. No movement. No sound. I noticed I was holding my breath, obviously expecting the ping of a bullet at any moment. I slowly eased my way into the room, checking left and right for anyone lurking just by the entrance. Clear.

There. I heard the noise again. Was that metal against metal? Perhaps the sound of a gun being reloaded?

I crept a little further into the room, and caught a flicker of movement through the myriad machines and piles of kitchen equipment. I couldn’t get a clear look at who or what it was that was moving through there, and I couldn’t risk firing off a round with all these metal machines in here. I could take myself out with a ricochet. As I inched closer, I couldn’t help but regret some of the things I hadn’t said to Christine when I had the chance—and some of the things that we had said to each other during our earlier arguments. I couldn’t get over the fact that my last word to her might be “Go”.

I jumped backward as the person responsible for the noise suddenly came into view, and shouted loudly as I raised my gun. In the same instant, the poor kitchen porter dropped his tray of dishes in shock, shards of crockery and metal cutlery skittering across the floor. He lifted his hands, as I lowered my gun, and slipped it back into my shoulder holster. The porter slowly removed the giant noise-cancelling headphones he had been wearing and that also seemed to be pumping out dance music at top volume. They were clearly worth the money, if they could cancel out the noise of a sniper attack and all that screaming.

“Qu-est-ce que vous voulez?” the young man asked, his hands in the air.

“Nothing, nothing,” I replied. “Il y’a un… gunman?” I pointed toward the upstairs reception area. My French was terrible. I went to get my gun back out of my holster, in an effort to illustrate what I was talking about, but that only scared him further. “Allez!” I suddenly remembered. “Pas encore travail.” He nodded and darted down a corridor.

I pulled out my phone. Time to call in the cavalry. Christine would have called Billman first, so, if I wanted to know that she was OK and get to her as soon as possible, then that’s who I needed to speak to, as well.

I dialled Billman’s number; the phone was picked up almost as soon as it started ringing.

“Kern?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied as I sank, exhausted, onto the floor of the kitchen. “I’m OK.”

“I just spoke to Christine,” she told me, and I breathed a sigh of relief. “She told me you went after a hostile alone, Kern. That’s against all protocol and—”

I cut her off. “It’s OK, ma’am. No hostile. Just a kid working in the kitchen. I don’t know who was more scared—him or me.”

“I want this done by the book, Kern,” Billman scolded. “You’re working under my supervision, and that means you work by my rules, understand? Any more heroics, and I might have to reconsider this arrangement.”

“Understood, ma’am.” I did contrition well. “Is the scene secure?”

“Yes, the Belgian police have the street sealed off. No sign of the sniper, I’m afraid.”

“Casualties?” I asked, thinking about the three people sealed in the back office.

“Mercifully, nothing serious. A few bumps and scrapes from people running away. The sniper seems to have had a very particular target.”

Christine and I had known that, though. Even without voicing it, we had known he was after us. We were getting too close to Al-Farook or whoever was behind his crimes. This attack, terrifying and worrying as it was, was also proof that we were very much on the right track.

“I’ve sent Christine to a safe house on the other side of the city. I’m going to send you the details in an encrypted message, including a marked map. Follow that route precisely; it’s different than the one I sent Christine. I need you to take a different route from her. It goes without saying that we are on full alert.”

“Of course, ma’am,” I replied, a little puzzled. Did Billman think I was so green that I didn’t know how to behave in these situations?

“That means I don’t want you to divulge the location of the safe house to anyone. Not any of your CIA colleagues or,” Billman paused, “any of your contacts.”

“Of course,” I replied grimly, very purposefully dropping the ‘ma’am’. Now I knew what this was all about. “I’ll make contact when I’ve arrived at the safe house.”

I hung up and pulled myself up from the kitchen floor. They suspected Warick! Christine must have said something to Billman when she checked in; that could be the only explanation for my little reprimand just then.

But Warick was in town to help me—to help the whole investigation, in fact. What possible reason could they have to suspect him? They would regret it if they tried to keep him away from the investigation, I told myself. He had been a vital asset to me, and we needed him if we were going to penetrate the closed-off world of diamond traders and get their help to trap the team behind Al-Farook. I started to head for the emergency exit where I had last seen Christine, running through my mind the events of the last twenty-four hours.

I paused outside the kitchen, realizing that if you didn’t know Warick as well as I did, then some of his recent behavior could seem a little odd, if not downright suspicious. First, he had known details about the London bombing that had not been released to the press—and that were still unknown to some of the agents working on the case. Then he had mysteriously turned up in Antwerp, claiming to have been in Paris on business, even though I was sure that he hadn’t mentioned such a trip to me.

It was just because they didn’t know him, I told myself. If I could just see Christine and explain how much he had helped me, not just on cases, but in my personal life, too, then she would understand that Warick wouldn’t—couldn’t ever betray me.

My blood ran cold as I suddenly realized that Christine’s sudden awkwardness around me could be due to a lot more than just embarrassment about our liaison on the plane. Did she suspect that Warick and I were in cahoots? That I was working with Warick on something, or perhaps that I was the one leaking information to him? That would explain a lot.

I needed to speak to her, put her mind at rest. I received the text message with the address and a map to the safe house. Once I had memorized the route I was to take, I deleted the message and slipped out of the emergency exit and along the alley at the back of the hotel.

* * *

By the time I made it to the safe house, Christine had been joined by a young officer from Henri’s unit. We nodded a hello, and he very discreetly headed for the kitchen to make coffee, leaving Christine and me alone.

“Are you OK?” I asked, sitting next to her, and taking her hands in mine. She didn’t pull them away, but I could tell she was uncomfortable.

“Jason, who knew where we were staying?” she asked.

Ah, so we were going straight to the accusations, were we?

“Billman and my CIA contact. Henri’s team, maybe?”

A silence hung over us. I knew she was waiting for me to say Warick’s name. I thought about bluffing it out; pretending I hadn’t told him the name of our hotel, but when the truth came out—as it inevitably would—that would only make me look guiltier. Besides, I had nothing to hide—we had nothing to hide. There was nothing wrong with me telling Warick where we were staying; it was hardly pertinent to the investigation.

“And I think I may have mentioned it to Warick.” Christine closed her eyes. “I know what you’re going to say,” I went on hurriedly, determined to get my say in first. “And I know that he hasn’t exactly made the best first impression, but, Christine, you have to understand how important this man is to me. Not just professionally, but personally, too. He’s been a good friend through some hard times.” Christine remained silent.

I paused. “I trust him, Christine. I really do. And I wish that you could trust him, too, but if you can’t…”

I left the sentence hanging in the air. Christine had opened her eyes again, those searching blue eyes. I felt as if they were taking my measure and I wondered if I’d be found wanting.

Suddenly, it came to me. “Meet him,” I said.

“You’d let me?” Christine answered with just the hint of a smile. “I thought you said I’d distract him?”

I tried to smile, too. “Well, you would. But if meeting him will prove to you that he is who I say he is,and that you and Billman can trust him, then it’ll be worth it.”

“OK, I’ll meet him,” Christine conceded, getting up and heading toward the kitchen. “That’s all I want, Jason. When you tried to hide him away from me…” she let the sentence trail away. She was right; I hadn’t helped my situation at all.

“Just don’t let him charm you away from me,” I warned her. “He’s a bit of handsome devil.”

Christine laughed and looked as though she was about to say something, but she stopped herself before the words came out. What had she been about to say? That no one could tempt her away from me? I could only dream.

“I’ll phone him now,” I called after her, determined to show that I—and Warick—had nothing to hide. There was no response, but I could hear murmured French conversation from the kitchen. I could have used Christine and her knowledge of the local lingo when I bumped into that poor kitchen porter.

I used the secure line to call Warick, careful to make sure I didn’t break Billman’s rule about giving away the location of the safe house, and more careful than usual with my small talk, just in case I inadvertently gave away details I shouldn’t. I arranged to meet him the next day at 8am. There was no rush to meet tonight—we still had three days until the purported date of the next attack, and both Christine and I needed a good night’s sleep or we were going to be no use to the operation.

“Meet at my hotel again, old boy?” Warick offered. I paused. Was that the right move? Christine could see it as hostile territory.

“No, how about the main square?” I countered. I had come through that way on my route to the safe house, and I suggested a little bar in the corner that I had spotted. Warick agreed readily, which surprised me, and told me he was looking forward to meeting my pretty assistant.

“Not assistant, Adam,” I told him with a shake of my head. “She’s a fellow agent. Just like me.”

“Oh, of course. Promise I’ll be on my best behavior tomorrow, old boy.”

Christine came back into the room with a cup of coffee.

“It’s on for tomorrow,” I told her.

“Not tonight?” she asked quizzically

I shook my head. “I think we both need an early night.”

* * *

Christine took the back bedroom and made it very clear that she was sleeping alone. I trudged a little disconsolately into the smaller front bedroom. There was a new officer on duty downstairs, and he had spent an hour telling me about all the security measures the house had—motion sensors, pressure sensors, CCTV. I think he was trying to put my mind at rest so I could sleep well, but I was so exhausted I was sure I could sleep through a full armored assault. As soon as he let me go to my bed, of course.

About 2am, I heard the door to my room creak open and I sprang to attention, feeling under my pillow for my gun.

“It’s Christine,” a voice whispered, and I relaxed. “I can’t sleep.”

What did she want me to do? I was terrified of frightening her off, but, at the same time, I still wanted her just as much as I had on the plane, if not more.

“Do you want to get into bed with me?” I asked tentatively, and heard her come closer before she lifted the cover and slipped into the bed beside me. She was wearing an oversized t-shirt, but her legs were bare, and I felt myself break out into goosebumps every time our bare flesh touched.

“I just want a cuddle,” she told me sternly. It was the cutest thing I had ever heard in my life. I held her in my arms, spooning her gently from behind and planted a quiet kiss on her head. Once I heard her breathing slow and even the odd gentle snore, I knew she was safely asleep, and that I could allow myself to finally rest, too.