It was cruel, and Adam knew it.
It was also the best way to prove to Harry once and for all that Zaf had the mettle and the quick thinking to be an undercover field agent.
And it was going to be the most satisfying tenner Adam had ever earned. Twice over.
"You know I don't approve of hazing on the job," Harry had said.
"This isn't hazing. It's more of a test."
"A test you're setting him up to fail?"
"He won't fail," Adam had insisted. "You didn't see him in that warehouse. The guy can talk himself out of anything."
In reply to Harry's doubtful look, Adam had offered him a tenner if those doubts proved to be well-founded. He'd also made a bet with Fiona on the side. Oh, this was going to be beautiful.
Zaf was full of energy and optimism on the way to the museum gala. His excitement at being out in the field, and in a James Bond-worthy tuxedo no less, was contagious - a much-needed breath of fresh air in the often stuffy business of being a spy. Harry called him naive and over-eager. Adam knew better - Zaf had a dauntless spirit and unflappable resolve. He just happened to spice it up with a facetious sense of humour.
That might save his arse tonight.
Fiona wired him up in the back of the limo. "So it's straight in, plant the bug..."
"Have a cocktail..." Zaf said.
Fiona gave him a Look and continued, "...pretend to get a phone call, then straight back out again. Here's your invitation. You'll have to show this at the door."
Zaf took the card she offered him, and Adam watched his expression with great anticipation.
"Hamish McDuff?"
There it was!
Zaf's eyes were wide as saucers, his horror and dismay utterly priceless to behold. "Of all the names in the world, you saddle me with HAMISH MCDUFF?"
Fiona was snickering behind her hand, but Adam tried to maintain some level of professionalism. "It was the best we could do on such short notice," he said in as reasonable a tone as he could muster. "Only invited guests are allowed in, and Mr McDuff was..."
"Bollocks, you're messing me about! Where's the real one?"
Adam gave him a pointed look, and reached out to take the invitation from his hand. "Well, if you don't think you can handle it..."
Zaf snatched the invitation away from Adam, gave him a glare that could melt titanium, adjusted his bow tie, and got out of the limo.
Adam finally allowed himself a laugh as the door slammed and Zaf marched purposefully toward the museum. Then he held his hand out to Fiona.
"Can't believe he didn't even TRY to wriggle out of it," Fiona muttered as she slapped a ten-pound note into his palm. "But Harry's right - there's no way he's getting in. He'll be tossed out in seconds. Especially if he uses his terrible Sean Connery impression."
"He'll be fine," Adam said. "Just watch."
They watched him walk up to the doors. They watched him hold out his invitation to the doorkeeper. They heard over the wire in his lapel what happened next.
"Hamish McDuff?" the doorkeeper said.
Zaf cleared his throat and nodded.
The doorkeeper conferred with someone standing just out of sight, then turned back to Zaf. "I'm sorry, sir, but I'm going to need to see some photo identification."
A long pause...
"Och, yae English are all the bloody same, yae cloased-minded racist dunderheeds! I cannae ha' a peaceful night oot in this cesspool of a coontreh wi'oot sum eejit asking fer ID. S'ootrrreegeous!"
Fiona gaped. "My God, is that Glaswegian?"
Adam laughed his arse off.
"I apologize, sir, I honestly didn't mean to imply..."
"Wheesht," Zaf said, raising his hand in the doorkeeper's face as he was ushered into the building. "Away wi'ye. Fackin' wanker," he added under his breath.
Adam was sure that comment was meant for him.
Five minutes later, Zaf slid back into the limo without a word, like nothing unusual had happened.
"Get it done?" Adam asked.
"Aye," Zaf said. "Nicked a cocktail, tae."
Adam laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. "You earned it, Hamish."
And earned Adam twenty quid and a lifetime of 'I-told-you-so's in the process. Not a bad night.