SEVENTEEN

His voice was calm, semi-automatic pistol held steady as he approached from the end of the corridor. It was my follower from the black Renault.

‘Hands out, buddy. Let’s see them.’

I raised my hands.

When the gun was at my head, he said: ‘What are you after?’

‘Joanna Lake.’

‘She’s not in there.’

‘How many guesses do I get?’

He tapped me above the ear with the barrel, directed me along the corridor to the emergency stairs. We descended. I had visions of service levels, basements with bins into which a body could be folded. I was prodded into the first-floor bar.

The hotel had gone for a low-lit, burnished copper theme, which suited the Englishman neatly folded into an armchair, fingers interlaced. The place was empty apart from staff and two expensively dressed women in a far corner. My chaperone had made the gun disappear. We were just three men looking like business.

‘Elliot Kane,’ Walker said.

‘Callum.’

Walker’s suit was crumpled. His eyes suggested an overnight flight. He had a moustache that might have looked businesslike to some but said nothing to me aside from former-military. He looked like a man who had just flown into Central Asia because of an almighty fuck-up. I took a seat opposite him and a waiter appeared.

‘Have a drink,’ Walker said. ‘Warm up.’

I ordered a brandy. Walker ordered a Scotch and a bottle of sparkling water. The guard declined refreshment. He had taken the sofa, back straight, hands clasped between his knees. His top button was tight around his throat. The years since military service could be measured in kilograms. Walker surprised me by pulling out a packet of Rothmans, lighting one with a plastic yellow lighter. He set packet and lighter on the coffee table, beside some pink flowers floating in a stone dish, leaned back, exhaled out of the corner of his mouth. The drinks arrived with a tray of cashews and an ice bucket. I took a sip.

‘Where is she?’ I said.

‘We have no idea.’

‘I don’t believe that.’

He spread his hands, face grave.

‘Vanished. I thought perhaps you lot might be doing better on this than we are.’

‘Us lot? I’m not here on behalf of the British government. She contacted me. I came over.’

Walker looked sceptical.

‘What did she say?’ he asked.

‘Not much. It seemed like she might be in trouble, though. I need to know what’s going on before I give you any more.’

Walker splashed some water into his whisky. A gold chain rattled on his left wrist. Like his guard, he’d been somewhere a lot sunnier not that long ago; the skin of his ears and nose was still flaked.

‘Who have you spoken to?’ Walker asked.

‘Not very many people.’

‘Obviously, it’s a sensitive situation.’

‘I’m sure.’