I waited. It was obvious I'd want to know more than that.

Someone gave a sudden laugh behind me, and I recognized it. It was Corbyn, that bloody fool in DI5. He was one of the people who'd just come in, and that was the first of the series of laughs we were going to hear at regular three-minute intervals if we stayed long enough: Corbyn treats counter-espionage as some sort of tiddlywinks, absolutely ripping fun.

Then Flockhart said, 'It's the sort of thing I wouldn't ask just anyone to take on.' He pushed his own plate away. 'It requires a rather high degree of discretion.'

That threw me. The Bureau is a strictly underground outfit that doesn't officially exist: we answer directly to the prime minister without going through those hysterical clowns at the Foreign Office, and one of the reasons for this is to give us the freedom to do things that no one else is allowed to do, and I'll say no more. And if that doesn't already require 'a rather high degree of discretion' then what in God's name does?

I didn't say anything. Flockhart was fly fishing with me, flicking his lures across the surface waiting for me to rise; but I wasn't in the mood: if he had a mission for me I'd look at it and if I liked it I'd take it — but I'd have to like it an awful lot if this man was going to be my control in London.

'Discretion,' Flockhart said carefully, 'is of course our daily bread at the Bureau. But this — '

'And for dessert, signori, we have an excellent Gelati di Napoli, anointed with just a soupcon of Punt e Mes — '

'For you?' Flockhart asked me as Luigi took our plates.

'No.'

'Just espresso, Luigi. For both — is that right?'

I said yes.

'The linguini was acceptable?'

'Your best, Luigi. Your very best.'

A small dark boy with eyes by Michelangelo swept the crumbs from our bread into a scoop and darted away. 'Discretion,' said Flockhart again, 'is our stock-in-trade, yes, but what I need would be discretion within discretion, if you follow.'