Pictures on the wall, one of the queen, two of Charles playing polo, no Di anywhere. Photograph of three men and a woman, all smiling happily, black crosses above their heads, one of the men holding a small pig — that explained it — some words scrawled underneath the photograph with ornate serifs and curlicues to give them solemnity, They Did Their Job. A picture of the pig on its own with a red ribbon round its neck, caption, Little Stinker. A picture of a Cambodian girl, eleven or twelve, crutches, radiant smile, two men holding her in a bear hug, huge fatherly grins. On the wall opposite the cluttered desk was a dartboard with Pol Pot's face crudely painted on it.

'How do we know for certain,' I heard Pringle's cautious tones, 'that the position on the map in Slavsky's room indicates the main guerrilla base of the Khmer Rouge?' He was looking at the topographical map he'd brought with him.

'We don't.'

Bastard didn't like the look of my freshly-killed rat.

'How certain,' he asked, 'are you?'

'Put it this way. We think Pol Pot is ready to launch a new offensive, possibly on the nineteenth of this month. The only way he can do it is by remote control, because the Cambodian army is virtually on stand-by to counter any land operation. So we're talking about missiles.' The ceiling fan began turning again but the lights didn't come on: Pringle hadn't thrown the switch when we'd come in because the lamp was all we needed. 'Then I see Boris Slavsky, a known arms dealer — according to your briefing — land in a Khmer Rouge aircraft and Colonel Choen leaving him with an attache case full of Swiss francs, and we assume it's in payment for the missiles — or if you like it better, I assume. I assume also that the map was left with Slavsky to indicate the exact location where delivery is to be made. That location is buried in deep jungle, according to your topo, and even though it's not far from the coast there's a mountain range in the way with absolutely no roads — not even tracks — where any kind of transport can be used. If — '

'You studied the map thoroughly?'

Best left ignored. 'The nearest airfield,' I said, 'is at Phumi Tuol Koki on the coast, and the only access by sea is through a fishing village.' Pringle was leaning over his topo, following me. I didn't look at it, kept my eyes on the fly-encrusted ceiling fan, wanting him to know just how thoroughly I can look at a map when I'm searching someone's room for information. 'There's a minor road fifteen kilometres from the marked position, but fifteen kilometres of jungle is like fifty kilometres of open terrain, in terms of accessibility. So if the mark on Slavsky's map doesn't show the exact location of the main Khmer Rouge base, I can't think what else it could mean.'

I waited.

Pringle let a few seconds go by, possibly to show he'd noticed I'd ignored his question about my having studied the map, and was not pleased. That was a shame, because if he asked me another stupid question I was going to walk out of here — what precisely did he mean, had I studied the map? Did he think I was — steady now, yes, it's just the adrenalin talking, no need to go overboard.

'I think I agree with your assumption,' Pringle said, 'that we now know the exact whereabouts of Pol Pot. I'm just not sure that London will be convinced.'

Something tried to alert me when he said that, but I couldn't pin it down. He'd said Pol Pot, not the Khmer Rouge base. Was there a difference? I let it go.

'It's up to London,' I said.

'Of course. It's up to Mr Flockhart.' He went on staring at the map, then after a while folded it and turned his cool grey eyes on me, and I thought again how young he looked for this job, for running an executive through a field where the opposition was an army twelve thousand strong.

Was Pringle the only man Flockhart had been able to find for this one? The only DIF prepared to run the executive through the mission unknown to the signals room, unknown even to the Bureau itself? Or had Pringle been like me a week ago, prowling the corridors of that bloody building in Whitehall desperate for a job?

'You've no idea,' I heard him saying, 'how the assumed missiles will be delivered?'

'By air.'

'You discovered this?'

'I didn't have to. The only — '

'By the way,' he cut in, leaning forward slightly, his face earnest in the lamplight, 'I meant, of course, had you had time to study the map thoroughly.'

It took a second for me to realize what he was talking about. 'Oh,' I said, 'of course.' But Christ, had it been simmering in his mind all this time, until he'd had to blurt it out so that I'd know he hadn't wanted to give offence? Had Flockhart briefed him to be this careful with me? Make quite sure you don't offend the executive — he's touchy and we can't afford to lose him. So what made them think I might drop this one cold at any given minute and take the next flight home?

I could smell subterfuge again, acrid as brimstone, and when I got to the truth I would take, yes, the next plane to London.

'The only way they can deliver the missiles,' I said, 'is by air. There's no need for them to risk interception at sea or on the ground, if somebody finds out what they're doing, as in point of fact we have. Slavsky's going to move a helicopter in to mow the trees at nought feet and leave the radar screens totally blank. Given something like an SA 321L with an 8,000-kilo payload he can ship in fifty or sixty high-explosive and incendiary short-range ground-to-ground missiles, more than the KR would need to blast Phnom Penh into a fireball.'

Pringle leaned back, tilting his head and watching me along his nose. There was a shot from somewhere outside in the streets, and I saw his pupils expand a degree and contract again. 'You mean there's no way anyone can stop the delivery of missiles to Pol Pot?'

'Only at the source, and even if you found it and blew it up, the KR would simply go to any one of a hundred other sources and start again.'

In a moment Pringle tilted his head down again and said, 'We don't seem to have many options, do we?'

'I told you, we'd need a battalion.'

'Do you believe Pol Pot would actually turn Phnom Penh into a fireball?'

'He likes to kill, and by the million. So I think that's what he'll do, yes, if the king ignores his ultimatum.'

Shots came, a burst this time and more distantly, no return fire. I thought of Gabrielle.

Pringle folded his topographic map, his pale hands deft with the creases. 'I need to know where you are,' he said without looking up.

I told him. I didn't trust either him or Flockhart, but they wouldn't blow me to the opposition: I was working for them.

'I'll signal Control again,' he said, 'on the debriefing. After he's taken whatever action seems indicated, he'll get back to me. At that time it's possible he'll want to speak to you personally, and I'll send a contact to fetch you. But it won't be at least until morning. Suppose, then' — looking up now — 'you make yourself available at your safe-house from nine o'clock onward?'

'Will do.'

'I'll be taking the call here in this office.' He stood up, tucking the map into his pocket.

'Code designation for the contact?'

He suggested one, and at the door I said, 'Perhaps you ought to put a peep on Slavsky, see if he goes anywhere interesting. But it'd have to be someone very good. If he sniffs any smoke he'll go to ground.'

'There are two people in Phnom Penh I could use, if — '

'No one local; we need a real pro.'

'Symes is in Bangkok.'

'If you want to fly him over, yes, he's first class.'

'I'll do that.' He opened the door and waited for me to go out first, but I held back.

'I need to make sure you're clear.'

'Oh yes, of course.' As if he'd forgotten. He hadn't. It had just been another subtle gesture of deference to the executive they couldn't afford to lose, and I noted it, I noted it well.