Manning made a show of haggling over an intricately carved knife for a couple of minutes, before leaving off and pointing us to a grand colonial house on the corner of the square. He led us through a side entrance and down a narrow dirt path until we came out at a small garden in the rear of the property. He pushed open a rickety door and we followed him through several rooms. Chandeliers, chaises longues, candelabra: it was like walking onto the set of The Forsyte Saga after hours. Some of the furniture was in covers, and fat balls of dust sat contentedly in the corners. Manning explained that the local building industry had long been dominated by the Ibos, but that most of them had returned to the East when it had seceded, leaving dozens of unfinished and unsupervised buildings dotted around the city.

It was an unconventional choice for a safe house, but I had to admit he wasn’t quite as daft as he looked. The market was popular with tourists, meaning that white faces were less likely to stick out, and the building was so conspicuous that nobody would think twice about anyone who entered it.

We climbed a flight of stairs to the second floor, which was home to a large ballroom that Manning had cleaned up a bit. I sat in an easy chair by a large electric orchestrion, and Pritchard walked over to the window and looked out at the rooftops.

‘Depressing-looking country, isn’t it?’ he said. He swivelled on his heels and inspected his Patek Philippe. ‘So. What time did you tell Slavin to get here for?’

Manning looked over at me anxiously.

Pritchard registered it. ‘Problem?’

I broke the news. He didn’t react for a long time, just stared at a spot on the floor in front of his shoes. Then he looked back up at Manning.

‘Thank you, Geoffrey,’ he said. ‘You’ve done very well. We can take things from here.’

‘Oh,’ said Manning. ‘Right-oh, then. I’ll be at the office if you need me.’ He gestured to a phone on a mahogany dresser, then scuttled away, leaving me alone in the room with Pritchard.

XII

XII

‘So,’ he said, removing his sunglasses and placing them carefully inside his jacket. ‘You came to meet me. You’ve got balls, Dark, I’ll give you that.’

‘You’re still angry I left London ahead of you, then,’ I said.

‘Angry?’ He tilted his head and considered the idea. Then he walked over to me, the heels of his brogues clicking loudly across the floor. He came right up, until his face was just a couple of inches from mine. ‘Put it this way,’ he hissed. ‘If you ever do something like that again, I will destroy you.’ He rocked back on his heels, pinching his nose as though trying to stop the rage from bursting out. ‘Do you understand?’