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Jack was eight when Thomas told him he was training him for a reason.

“You’ll have a job to do when you’re older.”

“What job?” Jack asked.

“Let’s call it being an adjuster.”

“What does an adjuster do?”

“Makes things right.”

Jack was ten when Thomas told him exactly what an adjuster did.

“An adjuster kills bad people.”

“Is that what you do when you go away? Kill people?”

Thomas nodded.

“Like James Bond?”

Thomas laughed. “Nothing is like that.”

Rules had been drummed into Jack from the day Thomas rescued him. Simple ones to start with, such as always making his bed, cleaning up after himself, checking both ways before crossing the road. That when Thomas said stop, Jack must stop.

As he grew older and understood he was training to be a professional assassin, then came the rules he had to live by. Apart from not getting caught, all were of equal importance.

Move seamlessly between worlds.

Jack’s former life had ended when he was six.

He’d been Jack since then but sometimes he needed another name.

From the moment a mission was accepted, his world would change.

He had to be an expert on his legend, know the answer to every question he might get asked, and answer without hesitation. One slip could get him killed.

Be in control of his surroundings at all times .

He had to know who and what was around him.

That car coming up on his right could hold someone who wanted him dead.

That woman bending over her baby’s pram could be reaching for a gun.

Had he seen that person earlier? That car?

That motorbike? Was the look that man gave him innocent or not?

He could not afford doubt. Yet he had to suspect everyone.

Make no assumptions .

They could get him killed. Prepare for the worst-case scenario in any situation.

Blend in when he needed to .

Wear the right clothes, do the right thing. Drawing the wrong sort of attention could be the end of him.

Always be ready .

Stay alert.

Avoid emotional attachment.

Jack shouldn’t get involved with anything outside the instruction he’d been given to follow.

He mustn’t allow himself to be distracted by a dog that’s about to get run over, by a child who’s cut their knee, by someone being robbed…

Though Jack knew he’d struggle with this.

If he saw someone drowning, was he supposed to leave them to drown?

Strangely, Thomas seemed pleased when he questioned the rule. It was his choice, Thomas told him. He was to weigh up the consequences if he strayed from his objective. If he missed the chance to strike, would there be another?

Protect the innocent. Jack thought that seemed the most important thing to remember.

The chance to practise what he’d learnt came when he was twelve and a half. Thomas told him that at some point in the next three days, Jack was going to be kidnapped.

He’d been excited. What an idiot!

He’d thought he’d spot them before they grabbed him. Idiot.

He thought he could withstand interrogation. Idiot.

He thought he could escape. Idiot.

He did manage to hold off talking for a while but in the end, he was too worn out to keep fighting or silent.

Even so, he told a story of his own, part truth, part lies.

He’d made it up and locked it in his head.

He clung to it even after they’d driven him out into the countryside and left him.

He’d been given a small backpack and a waterproof jacket, and told to find his way home without being spotted.

A tarpaulin. Compass. Bottle of water. A knife. No food.

It took him three days to get back; hungry, filthy but with his story still in place.

Never give up.

That was a rule too.

Jack had been anxious from the moment he and Thomas left the house on Friday morning to drive to the airport.

He might have been trained not to feel nervous but this was a big deal.

His first kill and even though he wasn’t on his own, he also understood how much it mattered to not let Thomas down.

Nor did he want to get caught or for Thomas to get caught because he knew what would happen to them both if that happened.

Before Thomas unlocked the car, he said, “This is the last time I’ll ask. Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Was he? Or did he not want to disappoint Thomas?

“It starts now. Live your cover.”

Jack nodded. He was committed to the job, but that wasn’t all he was feeling.

Finally, he truly understood why not getting emotionally attached to anything or anyone was one of the rules.

Apart from wanting to keep Thomas safe, he was worried about Zeph and he couldn’t afford to be distracted.

Part of him wanted to talk to Thomas about him, another part of him preferred to keep Zeph entirely to himself.

Did Thomas wonder about his sexual orientation?

He’d offered to get him a guy or a girl to have sex with.

Had that just been testing him out? Jack hadn’t felt attraction before in the way he found himself reacting to Zeph.

He’d never considered himself gay. He’d not really considered himself anything.

The fewer emotions the better. The fewer feelings the better. But now… Things had changed.

Maybe that was another reason for him going to school. Self-discovery.

Jack wore a thin jacket, worn grey jeans and a pale blue T-shirt.

No labels in anything. Thomas was in dark chinos, a dress shirt and a more formal jacket.

Jack hadn’t changed his hair colour for his previous visit to Türkiye, so he stayed his natural dirty blond. Contacts disguised Thomas’s blue eyes.

Now Jack had to live his cover, not just act it.

No more practising, no more working at the details.

This was their life until they returned.

Michael Hammond on a business trip with his son Alex.

They’d taken only hand luggage. Backpacks for each of them.

Inside Jack’s was a blood sugar level testing kit, syringes and insulin.

Among the vials of insulin, was one containing succinylcholine.

A tiny mark showed Jack which it was. There was also a letter from a doctor stating his need for insulin after being recently diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes.

Jack had become an expert on a condition he didn’t have.

Doctored phones were part of their disguise, the only numbers were contacts of Thomas’s who knew what to say, and who understood that a call from either Thomas or Jack over the next few days meant they were in danger and to stick to the script. But no physical help would be coming from anyone.

International airports were dangerous places for those in their line of work. Patrolled by armed guards, cameras everywhere, along with worry that the IDs they were using had been compromised or that some sharp-eyed person would decide for whatever reason, they looked wrong.

It was a long day. An hour and a half to reach the UK airport, his medication declared with no issue at security, countersurveillance measures performed inside the terminal to ensure they hadn’t been flagged, then a flight of just under four hours.

They exited the plane in the midst of many passengers, took a cab to the hotel through crazy traffic and finally reached the Istanbul hotel.

It was just after six in the evening, three hours ahead of English time.

“Let’s go for something to eat,” Thomas said.

The city was as chaotic as Jack remembered.

Traffic moved slowly in a snarled, honking mess.

When vehicles had the chance to move more quickly, they seized it, cars, trucks and scooters speeding through the crowded streets, sounding their horns, expecting pedestrians to jump out of the way.

The streets were packed with locals and tourists.

“What’s the population of Istanbul?” Jack asked.

“Depends where you stop counting but over fifteen million. It’s the most populous city in Europe.”

Every bit of the hilly landscape seemed covered. Huge sky scrapers, mosques and minarets, apartment blocks, businesses, shops, restaurants… Expensive real estate right next to dodgy looking properties. Though that was true of many cities.

Thomas ignored the waiters and street vendors trying to get their attention. He had that don’t-mess-with-me air about him, so they shoved menus in Jack’s direction. He hurried to keep up with Thomas as they made their way along winding cobblestone streets until finally Thomas stopped.

“This is fine.”

It was a warm enough evening to sit outside.

Thomas’s Turkish was better than Jack’s though Jack understood more than he could speak.

They were waiting for their food when a black and white cat arrived and twisted between Jack’s legs.

He remembered the cats from last year. The city was famous for them.

They were seen as a communal responsibility by restaurant staff.

Revered by Islam, they were well-fed and looked after.

The one by his feet was purring and Jack reached down to pet it. “Hello, sweetheart.”

“No, you’re not having one,” Thomas said.

Jack laughed.

“Nor a dog,” he added before Jack could say it.

The food was great. Kebabs, which he’d had before, and borek, which he hadn’t. Thin dough filled with spinach, potatoes and nuts, baked until golden and crispy. They shared lamb and fish dishes and finished with baklava and coffee.

“Your blood sugar will have spiked,” Thomas said.

“Should I test? Is anyone watching?”

“No. But it’s something to be aware of. If you haven’t used any strips or any of the insulin…”