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The night is dark and windy, with a mizzle in the air. Funny, when I was a kid I always used to call this ‘spies weather’ because spies were always filmed on dark, damp nights huddled in doorways. Bright kid, I should have stayed home.

I hear the quick patter of a woman’s shoes. ‘High heels - she’ll never run in those.’ But it isn’t her. Now I can hear a quiet tread. ‘Better,’ I muse and sure enough I spot soft soled boots approaching. The sharp rattiness of her face is emphasised by anxiety. I have never trusted her and fit my hand reassuringly around my Glock 26 as she comes closer.

‘Where is it?’ she demands. ‘And I hope you are well too,’ I say sounding relaxed. ‘No time for games,’ she spits. ‘Have you got it?’ ‘Yes, but not here,’ I reply. Her ratty features tighten and I know she could lose control. I breathe deeply, alert for fast action.

‘Keep talking’ I tell myself. ‘It’s still at the embassy.’ The temperature goes up a notch. ‘No, don’t worry,’ I try and calm her. ‘It’s very well hidden and I can get it in a jiffy’. ‘Stupid, stupid,’ she spits again, this time in Cantonese. I know immediately that I’m in for big trouble.

The knife pierces my thigh so fast I feel as if it’s only a blast of cold air on my leg. ‘I could kill you, but I won’t, this is just a reminder.’ She’s back to English again so I relax a little, in spite of the pain. I feel the blood start to run down my leg. ‘We’ve bombed the embassy tonight. You’d better get a replacement.’ A Mercedes S-Class sighs to a stop. I blink and she is gone.