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The pace of Jack’s training was relentless.

He was to learn from every experience, every interaction, every misstep.

Trips abroad with Thomas were preceded by lessons on the culture of the country.

When tea was served in Kazakhstan, cups were mostly filled halfway.

If the cup was filled, it meant your host wanted you to leave.

In Saudi, it was best not to drive yourself because any accident will be your fault regardless of whether it is or not.

Don’t show the soles of your feet in Egypt.

No direct eye contact in Japan, Iran or Korea.

Don’t stand too close to a stranger in Norway.

Paintball games taught him how to move under fire.

He had lessons in parkour until Thomas stopped them, worried he’d kill himself with his recklessness.

Jack still practised when he could. Safely jumping from one building to another might one day save his life.

He practised bouldering in the Peak District, climbed mountains in France, tackled ice cliffs in Canada.

He learned how to drive aggressively, even though he wasn’t old enough to be behind the wheel in the UK.

He learned how to shoot using conventional circular targets, then human silhouettes, then mannequins. Jack was good at long distance sniping. Steady and accurate. The distances were increased and he still hit the target. He impressed his instructor and Thomas.

Arm-to-arm combat brought challenges, but he was fast and smart.

Martial arts of many types were muddled with street fighting.

Whatever he needed to do to survive, he had to learn how to do, but not break the arms and legs of his instructors, not dislocate their joints, not break their elbows.

He was quick with a knife, but as Thomas pointed out, not actually driving it into a person made a difference.

In one of Jack’s training sessions, a trainer he was getting the better of in a fight pleaded with him to go easy, talking about not wanting to go back to his kids with a dislocated elbow. Jack hesitated and it cost him the encounter.

Over dinner, Thomas criticised him for pausing. “Not everything will be done at a distance. Don’t lose focus. No one you are engaged to kill will be innocent. Even if it’s not the head of the snake, those who work for them are legitimate targets.”

“But this man was a trainer, not the enemy.”

“You shouldn’t have hesitated. He was trying to put you off. You weren’t going to damage him.”

Jack had felt like he might. “How do I kill someone when they tell me they don’t want to leave their children without a father? When they say their wife is pregnant? When they claim they’ve been forced to do something bad because their family has been threatened?”

“How do you know they’re telling the truth? You can’t know. What sort of father are they to get drawn into the business they’re in? As for those who claim they’re working under duress… Can you safely let them go? Doubtful.”

“So I just kill them?”

“First and foremost, you consider your job and your own safely and security, and that of others you might be protecting.”

His world was full of grey lines, Jack thought. Every fucking shade of grey.

Jack went for a shower after his run, worried Thomas was going to tell him not to be friends with Zeph, that Zeph wanting to join the security services, even in a desk job, meant it was too risky to be associated with him.

Then again, maybe Zeph would be a useful contact.

But that was five years from now. There was little chance they’d still be in touch.

Less than little. No chance. Jack had to be a lone wolf.

It wouldn’t be long before he didn’t even have Thomas at his back.

What lay ahead was a future he’d been brought up to expect. To want. It had been what he’d chosen. He’d be doing good. Even if no one knew he was the good guy. Even if he died with no one knowing that. Except now he was a little less sure this was what he wanted.

He knew he didn’t want to push Zeph away. He was supposed to be blending in. Zeph helped him do that. He had all his arguments ready for when Thomas told him to pull back from the friendship.

He came downstairs to find Thomas had made them both a cooked breakfast.

“We’re going away next weekend,” Thomas said.

“Where?”

“Türkiye. Istanbul.”

“Oh.” They’d been there a year ago.

“What do you remember?”

“No hands in pockets when talking to people. They tend to stand closer to each other than we do. A downward nod of the head means yes. Backward tilt means no. Leave your teaspoon over your glass to signal no more, thank you. The usual Muslim customs, though alcohol is legal there.”

“If you’re over eighteen. You won’t be going to school on Friday morning. I’ll call and tell them you’re sick. We should be back on Sunday. Possibly Saturday.”

“You’re doing a job?”

“No. You are.”

Jack froze.

“I’ll be with you, but it’s your job. Hakan Kubat. Read the details on my laptop. I’ve left the file open. See what you can come up with.”

Jack tried not to eat too quickly. He was apprehensive and excited but made sure he showed nothing.

“I’m going to sit with you as you read, watch you, only correct you if you’re going down the wrong path.”

For all the training Jack had done, knowing someone was going to die by his hand brought a lump to his throat.

It was hard to finish his breakfast but he knew Thomas would notice if he didn’t, so he chewed slowly and swallowed every mouthful.

Once he’d washed up the breakfast things, he headed to Thomas’s study.

There was a special operating system on Thomas’s computer that used the hardware but not the software or drive storage.

The system preserved anonymity by never storing data about what you’d looked at or done, forcing all internet activity through a special network.

Thomas and Jack were rarely apart but when they were, they talked to each other using draft messages on an account they shared. Everything was deleted once read.

Jack started to read. Thomas dropped into the chair at his side.

When Jack had done, he pushed his chair away from the desk.

All the clues were in the document as to what Thomas wanted him to suggest about dispatching Kubat.

Details of the man’s routine along with information about who he’d supplied with arms, who he’d had killed and how he’d had them killed.

Not only men, but women and children too.

Punishment for not doing exactly what he wanted was severe.

An entire family murdered. Jack chewed his cheeks.

If he and Thomas were only there over the weekend, there was no opportunity to do much groundwork. Unless Thomas knew the buildings that would provide clear shots, shooting him seemed an unlikely option. The guy would be well protected. His business was weapons.

“He goes to the hamam every Saturday,” Jack said. “The same one every time. At the same time.”

“He does. And afterwards to Café Balat where he plays backgammon.”

“We went to that hamam last year.”

Thomas nodded.

“Was he a target then?”

“A possible one.”

“Did we see him there?”

“No. I avoided that possibility. What do you remember about the hamam?”

“Apart from what actually happened? The steam room, the painful massage, the bubble wash?”

“Anything else.”

“Some of the looks I got.”

“Ones that did not make me happy. A couple of the guys were far too interested in you.”

“I thought it was because of my hair. No one did anything wrong, though.”

“They might have if you’d given them the slightest encouragement. That particular hamam is popular with gays, though the owner would deny it and has denied it in online reviews. Sensible of him.”

“You think Kubat might be bi? He’s been married to a woman for twenty years. Three kids.”

“Possibly. He might just be an opportunist.”

But it gave Jack another angle. “So we go in with the same background.” He tried to not make it sound like a question. “Same passports. You’re sourcing a carpet for someone. I’m along for the ride.”

Thomas waited. Jack picked up no clues from his expression, but he couldn’t see a good reason for using new ID.

“I do it in the hamam. Poison his water bottle.” Jack swallowed hard.

“Why in the hamam and not the café? What poison?”

“More people in the café. I think it would be harder to do it unseen. I’d stand out.

There were tourists in that hamam. Easier to blend in.

The poison. Er… Fentanyl. Advantage is that not much is needed.

Only a few grains and it’s hard to detect when ingested so I could slip it into his water bottle and he wouldn’t taste it. ”

“But it can be detected in the blood hours later. Even longer than that in the hair.”

“So Tetrodotoxin is out then.”

“Where would you get pufferfish poison?”

“A pufferfish?”

Thomas rolled his eyes. “I’m not even going to address that.”

“You didn’t say it couldn’t look like murder.”

“That’s true. But being able to walk away without alarms blaring is useful. Even better if an autopsy doesn’t declare the death suspicious. Another suggestion?”

“Botulinum toxin. It can’t be absorbed through intact skin but the report says Kubat has eczema. If the toxin was in one the wash products…”

“How would you ensure that it wasn’t used for anyone else?”

Jack thought again. “What about an intramuscular dose of succinylcholine? A 40 mg ampule would be enough to cause almost instant paralysis. He’d be unable to breathe and he’d die. It would look like a heart attack.”

“He’d need to be found after his heart stopped beating. That drug has no effect on the heart.”

“But once the lungs stop working, there’ll be no oxygen surging around the body. Plus, the body metabolises succinylcholine after death so even if a coroner found a puncture wound and suspected foul play, they wouldn’t be able to determine the cause.”

“How are you going to get close enough to inject him and where would you do it?”