Yassa didn’t look as though he was planning on leaving any time soon, but Ben kept an eye on him as he went over to the bar and bought a single measure of a blended brand that was the only scotch Le Geronimo stocked. He carried his drink over to a table a distance away from Yassa’s and sat watching him. The barman didn’t seem to give a damn, so Ben lit up a Gauloise. Just like old times.

Four minutes later, Michel Yassa hauled himself up from his seat and began making his way a little unsteadily towards the doorway leading towards the toilets. Ben set down his empty glass, stubbed his cigarette into it, stood and followed.

By the time he reached the doorway, Yassa had disappeared through it. Beyond was a long, dingy corridor with a bare brick outer wall that he guessed ran parallel with the alleyway outside. The men’s toilets were off to the right. Ben entered and found Yassa at one of the urinals, standing with his back to him and one hand pressed against the tiled wall for support. He was weaving on his feet.

Ben let him finish and get zipped up. Yassa turned to leave without bothering to wash his hands, and only then did he register Ben’s presence. He hesitated, then went to push past Ben towards the doorway.

Ben said, ‘Michel.’

Yassa stopped. ‘Do I know you?’ He blinked. Stared, confused at first. Then his bleary eyes focused into a look of terror, and the drunken haze receded like a gale force wind ripping into a blanket of North Sea fog. He backed away from Ben with his arms outstretched and his palms raised. ‘No! No! Please! Don’t kill me!’

Ben had no idea why Michel Yassa thought he was going to kill him. But he worried that the guy was about to start yelling and screaming for help, which might draw all kinds of attention Ben didn’t want. This was meant to be a private conversation.

So he knocked him out with a punch to the jaw, caught him as he fell, and bent low and scooped his unconscious body up over his shoulder. Back out in the corridor, he found a fire escape door with a panic bolt. As he’d guessed, it led outside to the alleyway. He could see the Alpina parked at the mouth of the alley.

Ben carried Michel Yassa past the stacked crates and rows of bins, and out into the cobbled street. One or two people were around, but either they hadn’t noticed anything unusual or kidnapping was just daily routine in this neighbourhood. Ben opened up the car boot, dumped Michel Yassa inside, then slammed the lid, got behind the wheel and took off.