Samantha whispered something to Jeremy. He nodded. I was impressing them with this bullshit.

“Who do I work for?” Jeremy asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Think about it.”

“Why should I?” I asked petulantly.

“Why indeed?” Jeremy said, smiling.

“Ok, let me see… Christ, I have it, it must be the Old Bill. You work for the cops.”

“Not the police, why would the police want you?”

I sat forward on the edge of the bed. Yeah, he was too much of a patrician for the cops. He was a highflier, he worked for- “British bloody Intelligence,” I said.

Jeremy’s jaw opened and closed. Samantha moved a little closer. Jeremy turned round to look at her.

And then I saw I was being dicked. I’d been wrong. Samantha was the superior officer. Jeremy was the underling. She was watching both of us, using him as a barrier to assess me, seeing if I was right for whatever it was they wanted me for.

Well, enough of that for a game of soldiers.

“Hey, Sammy, why don’t you do us a favor, get your boy out of here and we can talk business,” I said.

Jeremy looked startled. Samantha tried not to appear nonplussed.

“We do think we’re clever, don’t we?” she said, mispro- nouncing her Rs in that way they teach you at only the most elite of English boarding schools.

I said nothing.

“You may leave, Jeremy. Please wait for me outside,” she ordered. Jeremy stood, winked at me, and knocked on the door. The guard opened it and let him out. Samantha moved to Jeremy’s seat and picked up the file he had left on the chair.