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Even before he’d pulled the door closed, the car sped off. He glanced back out of the rear window to see the second passenger standing on the top step of the aircraft was waving. It was Jojo. He returned her wave.

Before he said a word, William touched a button and a glass partition was raised, alerting Ross that what he was about to be told couldn’t even be shared with Danny.

‘Have you heard of a Simon Hartley?’ were William’s first words. No ‘did you have a good holiday, Ross,’ or ‘how’s Jojo?’

‘Only what I’ve read in the press,’ admitted Ross. ‘The guy who’s been arrested in Saudi Arabia for a murder he didn’t commit.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Motive, motive and motive, Chief Superintendent,’ came back Ross’s immediate response. ‘According toThe Guardian– Alice’s paper of choice – he hardly knew the man he’s been accused of murdering. He has no past criminal record, and I’m bound to ask, why would a man on the verge of securing a huge arms deal murder a man in full view of several witnesses, when in truth he wasn’t even a rival?’

William couldn’t disagree.

Ross looked his friend in the eye and said, ‘Perhaps it’s time to stop playing games, William, and tell me where I fit in to all of this.’

William took him slowly through the meeting he and the Hawk had just had with the Foreign Secretary earlier that morning, concluding with the words, ‘They need someone to fly to Riyadh immediately, track down Jenny Prescott, aka Avril Dubois, and find out why she won’t talk. As we’re now certain she witnessed the murder, we have to somehow get her back to England, as her evidence could prove vital if we hope to get Hartley released. And there are no prizes for guessing who the Hawk thought was the ideal person for the job.’

Ross felt a familiar rush of adrenalin that always came when his particular skills were required.

‘Where are we heading now?’ was all he asked.

‘Back to the Yard. The Hawk wants to see you before you go on to the Foreign Office, where you’ll be briefed by a Mr Trevelyan.’

‘Who’s he?’

‘The Foreign Secretary’s private secretary.’

‘Typical of the Hawk,’ said Ross, ‘to want to stay one step ahead of the FCO. And then what?’

‘I’ve already booked you onto an evening flight to Riyadh,’ said William as he touched a button and the screen slid back down. ‘So how was your holiday, Ross?’

‘I thought you’d never ask.’

•••

Seven hours later, Ross took his seat in business class. The first thing he did was to study the menu, as he hadn’t eatensince breakfast that morning on another plane. His mind hadn’t stopped whirling after he’d left a three-hour briefing with Mr Trevelyan, along with two experts from the Middle Eastern desk. Later, they were joined by two officers from MI6, who supplied him with his cover story and explained in great detail why he was officially visiting the Middle East and how they had taken advantage of his background, even his mother.

He had to admit the idea the young whizz kid from MI6 – who looked as if he should still be in short trousers – had come up with was nothing short of brilliant. Where did they find these people, Ross wondered. Once they were convinced he knew what was expected of him, Ross was driven back to the airport just in time to catch the evening flight to Riyadh. He was the last passenger to board the plane.

It had quickly become clear to Ross that the first thing he needed to do was somehow make contact – without it being too obvious – with Avril Dubois/Jenny Prescott, and if, as the Foreign Office had suggested, her passport had been confiscated when she tried to leave the country soon after the murder of Paolo Conti, he’d already come up with a way of getting around that problem. Trevelyan had immediately accepted his suggestion, and even managed a slight bow of recognition.

Ross had agreed only to call the embassy in an emergency, and under no circumstances was he to attempt to visit Hartley in prison, as others were handling that particular problem. Ross had also been told about one of the Foreign Office’s secret weapons, a Mr Jim Fellows MBE. A hotel concierge by day, a spy by night. Fellows had already been fully briefed about the arrival of Declan O’Reilly from Dublin, who was hoping to close an oil deal on behalf of the Irish government.

Once he’d given the flight attendant his dinner order, Ross set about reading the thick file that Trevelyan had supplied, aware he needed to have completed his prep by the time he landed, as he’d been instructed to hand the file over to the courier who would be meeting him at the airport, in exchange for the two passports he’d requested. ‘If you’re not familiar with the contents by then, you won’t be given a second chance,’ were Trevelyan’s uncompromising words just before he left for the airport.

As the flight was over eight hours, and Trevelyan had made sure no one was seated next to him, Ross was confident he would have become his new persona long before they landed in Riyadh. Hani Khalil looked like his biggest problem, because if he became suspicious, even for one moment, that Ross was working for the British, it would not only put Avril’s life in danger, but possibly Hartley’s as well, not to mention that it would most assuredly mean the loss of a three-billion-pound contract.

‘No pressure,’ said Ross out loud.

‘I beg your pardon, sir?’ said an attentive flight attendant.

‘Just a black coffee, please,’ said Ross, before returning to the file.

The Hawk had insisted he must always call him before he spoke to Trevelyan, while the Foreign Office mandarin had made him sign a document confirming he wouldn’t contact anyone in England until he returned.

He had lied to one of them.

Ross ate the four-course meal slowly, and only drank water – despite being reminded several times that once they arrived in Riyadh, he’d only be able to get a soft drink until he stepped back on board – with or without Ms Dubois. While others slept or watched a film, he continued to devour thecontents of the Foreign Office directive, making only slight adjustments to his back story.