I rose quickly and opened the door with trembling hands.

Four guys burst in with pistols raised, swinging them wildly around, and searching every corner and nook for where James might have been hiding.

'Is he here?' One snapped, pushing me against the wall. It knocked the wind out of my lungs.

'No!' I wheezed.

He looked at me with a narrowed glare, and we stayed frozen, with his spread palm against my collarbones until his partners all yelled 'clear' one by one. After, that, he motioned me to sit down on the sofa. I did.

'Tell us everything you know about "James Truscott"'. He snapped emphatically.

'I've known him for years,' I mewled. 'What's going on, please! Is James

in trouble?'

The agent looked at his colleague, who shook his head almost imperceptibly.

'James Truscott died four years ago. We found his body buried in a marsh outside the city six weeks back. His face was crushed, his fingers cut off, and his body soaked in chlorine.' The agent said flatly. 'This MO is synonymous with foreign operatives who are looking to steal people's identities. There were also signs of torture on the body-'

'Torture?' I gasped.

'Yes. Probably to get Mr Truscott to give up his Social Security Number.'

'And you think James has something to do with this?'

'Ma'am, James did this. But his name's not James. It's a double identity. We don't know who he is. Did he reveal his true identity to you?'

'Foreign Operative?' I shook my head, only now registering those words.

'Yes. A spy.'