Ben didn’t much care for the guy’s tone, or for the fact that he’d come armed. He said nothing as he got in the car. Angelo dived in behind the wheel and took off with a raspy V8 roar and a squeal of tyres. They sped out of the airport and turned out into a long sweeping coastal boulevard following the twisty contour of the shoreline with verdant forested hills rising up on one side, the shimmering golden ocean on the other. People drove on the left in the US Virgin Islands, like in Britain, despite the cars having left-hand drive.

Ben lit up a Gauloise without winding down his window. Angelo flashed him a disapproving look from behind the dark glasses, but didn’t pull out his revolver. Perhaps he wasn’t such a bad guy after all.

Ben asked, ‘Where are we going?’

‘Across the island to meet the boat.’

The sun was sinking fast. Ben asked, ‘You planning to take those shades off after nightfall, or do you like to drive blind?’

‘I can see just fine,’ Angelo mumbled. ‘Don’t you worry about me, buddy.’

‘Fine,’ Ben said. ‘Just don’t let me see that gun again. Or you won’t like what happens next, okay?’

Angelo fell silent and didn’t speak another word for the rest of the journey. Night fell. The road skirted the islands’ capital of Charlotte Amalie, then left the city behind, snaking west and north as their headlights shone through thick forest that hugged the road, now and then passing a solitary house. From what Ben had understood, Roth lived on one of the smaller islands off St Thomas.

They passed by the small town of Bonne Esperance, and continued a winding route westwards until the twisting road had gradually narrowed with jungle-like foliage encroaching on both sides. Then the trees parted and Ben saw the dark ocean filling the horizon. The car snaked down a winding cliff track that led to a tiny harbour. Angelo pulled up by an old wooden jetty, to which was moored a motor cruiser, its lights bobbing on the water that lapped at the shore.

Angelo turned on the car’s interior light and nodded towards the boat. Ben grabbed his bag and got out, while Angelo remained at the wheel. Ben walked away without saying a word to him. He walked along the jetty to the waiting boat. Its pilot was a dreadlocked Afro-Caribbean guy who was smoking a cigar and greeted Ben with a smile and a ‘Hail up, Pardnah,’ and introduced himself as Emile.