I was just about to sneak out the backdoor when a familiar voice stopped me in my tracks.
WALKER: “Are you certain he received the pictures”
…said a man with a British accent that I immediately recognized as James Walker. James had been the one who had recruited me into the British Intelligence Service three years ago, and he was the man to whom all of my reports were eventually delivered. He should be in London, reading telegraph messages and reports, not in a bar in Algiers. Uncertain what to do, I returned to the bar and ordered a bottle of beer and found a booth where I could eavesdrop on Walker without being seen.