Prague in early February wasn’t all that bad, thought Paul Degarde, even for a southern Frenchman accustomed to the Mediterranean warmth. There was no snow on the ground in the Czech capital, but Degarde waited in the Jungmann Square Starbucks, where his toes wouldn’t freeze. He’d been in his holding zone for forty minutes. He’d walked his safety route before arriving at the coffee shop, however last night’s insomnia and the seven coffees he’d drunk were not calming. For now, he focused on not fidgeting or looking impatient, both ‘tells’ that watchers would look for.

At forty-four minutes, Degarde wrapped a plain scarf around his neck, covertly dismantled his phone and poured the pieces into his jacket pocket. Standing, he picked up a tourist camera from the table in front of him, dropped it in his other pocket, and emerged into the afternoon. The cold air tightened his jaw as he moved through Jungmann Square, his gait relaxed but his mind a laundry list of actions and contingencies. Paul Degarde may have been a fully commissioned case officer— an officer traitant, or OT— of the DGSE, France’s foreign secret service, but he was not from Operations. His academic background in Russian foreign policy, and his fluency in the Russian language,
had seen him recruited as an analyst by the Company twenty years earlier. For analysts who worked with the DR— the Direction du Renseignement, the Intelligence Division of the Company— some basic training in clandestine liaison was required, which he’d used at his two embassy external posts in Greece and Turkey. There were rules for how he conducted himself in the field, even if his job was the relatively low risk processing of human sources.

He had six minutes between Starbucks and his contact point. He had to be nonchalant while detecting and memorising everything on the route. He knew from his field work that once he was back in Paris someone from the DO—Direction des Operations— could gatecrash a debrief and start asking detailed questions about who and what was around him during a meeting or a route.

He walked across Františkánská Zahrada Park, through the Světozor passage with the tourist crowds and came out in Vodičkova Street, where he turned right to create a visual ‘loss’ for potential followers. He walked fifty metres up the street before crossing it, giving him an excuse to look for traffic and determine followers.

He moved into a medieval walkway, past a line of eight advertising panels and walked at a slight angle to them so as to remove a convenient line of sight for any followers. He advanced to a set of steps at the end of the lane where a luminous sign indicated Kino Lucerna. Inside the building’s gallery, a horse was suspended upside down from the vaulted ceiling. He took a few photos, playing out his tourist legend and allowing a final check for followers. By the time he lowered his camera he knew he was clean. If things went wrong, the camera shots would let the Company know his location before he disappeared. He pushed the thought of capture from his head. Unlike the DO operatives, he had his secret weapon, right against his heart in his jacket pocket: his diplomatic passport.

He climbed the stairs to the cafe, choosing a table located slightly back from the bay windows, with a view of the gallery and the stairs. Lotus was due to arrive at 3 p.m., which left Degarde fifteen minutes to sit and watch…