A police car went past the entrance very fast with its siren waking the night; then it was quiet again down here until a door of the BMW came open.

Elliott touched my arm. 'It would be quite a good thing,' he told me in an undertone, 'to listen, and not say much. The final decision must be yours, remember, so you've nothing to worry about.'

Nerves on his sleeve. It didn't help.

Two men got out of the BMW and came round to this side and then someone else got out of the back and stood with his hands buried in the pockets of his raincoat, and for a moment looked at no one as we walked over and stopped near him, the soft echoes of our footsteps dying away.

I could actually hear Elliott's breathing, it was so quiet here. Chandler hadn't said anything since we'd got out of the car; he was on my other side, opposite Elliott, and they were both standing a little way back from me.

'Who are they?' The man in the raincoat had his head turned towards the entrance to the garage. His voice was so soft that I'd barely heard him.

'NATO guard, sir, major's rank.' It was one of the men who'd just got out of the BMW.

Shepley's head moved again. 'What about those?'

He was looking at a dark grey Mercedes in the far corner, with two faces only just visible behind the windscreen.

'Police, sir. In case anyone tries disturbing us.'

Shepley turned his head again and looked at me. He was nondescript, in some ways: average height, average weight, thinning straw-coloured hair, a bank clerk or an insurance man — nondescript except for his eyes, a washed-out blue but with a steadiness that made me feel he was quietly taking every nerve synapse in my brain apart and checking it for wear. Nondescript, too, except for his voice, which was so soft that you had to focus in on it and ignore all other sounds, if you wanted to hear what he was saying.