Nat, a 47 year-old veteran of Britain's secret intelligence service, believes his years as an agent Runner are over. He is back in London with his wife, the long-suffering Prue. But with the growing threat from Moscow centre, the Office has one more job for him.

Agent Running in the Field  is a chilling portrait of our time, now heart-breaking, now darkly humorous, told to us with unflagging tension by the greatest chronicler of our age.

Read an excerpt from the book below:

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'Steff, there's something about me that your mother and I feel it's time you knew.'

'I'm illegitimate,' she says eagerly.

'No, but I'm a spy.'

She too is staring ahead of her. This wasn't quite how I meant it to begin. Never mind. I say my piece as drafted, she listens. No eye contact so no stress. I keep it short and cool. 'So there you are, Steff, now you have it. I've been living a necessary lie, and that's all I'm allowed to tell you. I may look like a failure, but I do have a certain status in my own Service.' She doesn't say anything. We reach the top, uncouple and set off down the hill, still nothing said. She's faster than I am, or likes to think she is, so I let her have her head. We meet up again at the bottom of the lift.

Standing in the queue we don't speak to each other and she doesn't look in my direction, but that doesn't disconcert me. Steff lives in her world, well now she knows I live in mine too, and it's not some knacker's yard for Foreign Office low-flyers. She's in front of me so she grabs the T-bar first. We have barely set off before she asks in a matter-of-fact voice whether I've ever killed anyone. I chuckle, say no, Steff, absolutely not, thank God, which is true. Others have, if only indirectly, but I haven't. Not even arm's length or third flag, not even as the Office calls it, deniable authorship.

'Well if you haven't killed anyone, what's the next-worst thing you've done as a spy?' – in the same casual tone.

'Well, Steff, I suppose the next worst I've done is persuade chaps to do things they might not have done if I hadn't talked them into it, so to speak.'

'Bad things?'

'Arguably. Depends which side of the fence you're on.'

'Such as what, for instance?'

'Well, betray their country for starters.'

'And you persuaded them to do that?'

'If they hadn't persuaded themselves already, yes.'

'Just chaps, or did you persuade female chaps too?' – which if you'd heard Steff on the subject of feminism is not as light-hearted as it might otherwise sound.

'Largely male chaps, Steff. Yes, men, overwhelmingly men,' I assure her.

We have reached the top. We again uncouple and descend, Steff streaking ahead. Once more we meet at the bottom of the lift. No queue. Until now she has pushed her goggles up on to her forehead for the ride. This time she leaves them in place. They're the mirrored kind that you can't see into.

'Persuade how exactly?' she resumes as soon as we set off.

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Curious about what happens next? Check out Agent Running in the Field