He began forking his bacon onto a piece of toast, which he dunked in the yoke of a fried egg. ‘Still,’ he said with a shrug, ‘I suppose it makes sense. If anybody ever decided to lob a couple of cruise missiles at that base, at least our cafés and resort-style executive residences would be spared.’

She had the distinct impression that Nick Pappas did not approve. She scooped up the last of her yoghurt and muesli, and washed it down with a sip of English breakfast tea. They were alone in their darkened corner of the Sirocco. The whole terrace was well shaded and comparatively cool, despite lying beyond the chilled air curtain protecting the interior of the café. Most of the other customers preferred to take their leisure out there, and Pappas seemed to know the proprietor well enough that he and his guest enjoyed an exclusion zone around their table. He had taken a seat in the corner, affording him both a clear tactical overview of the room and an exit through the door to the kitchen, just a few feet away.

‘So what now?’ Jules asked.

‘A couple of things. For you, unfortunately, a nervous few days, or hours, or who knows, maybe even minutes, while we wait for these pricks to have another go at you.’

‘Hmm. I can’t honestly say that the sit-around-and-wait-to-get-slotted plan is filling me with confidence, Nick.’

Pappas finished his breakfast and began patting down his pockets as though looking for something, before stopping, frustrated. ‘Bugger,’ he muttered. ‘I keep forgetting I’m supposed to be giving up the smokes . . . No, look Julianne, it doesn’t really appeal to me either, so I think we need to get on the front foot. Shah’s given me a pretty good backgrounder on this bloke Cesky, and your past with him. But what would really help is sitting down with you now and working our way through everything you know. Not just about him, which I’m assuming isn’t much more than I already know. But also about everybody you had on that yacht who you reckon he might have it in for. If this bloke is working through a revenge fantasy, it’d help me to know who he’s likely to hit, and where I might find them. Or what’s left of them.’

Jules adjusted her chair so that she wasn’t looking directly into the fierce glint of the sun coming off the water. ‘Do you have a pen and paper?’ she asked.

He produced a notepad and a small digital recorder and over half an hour she told him everything she could remember about the week they had spent in Acapulco at the end of March ’03.