‘Bring plenty. I want this dealt with fast, efficiently and as soon as possible. When the job is done, take whatever phones he’s carrying and deliver them to me personally.’

‘No problem, boss. On our way.’

Nazim ended the call and smiled to himself. The man with no name was already as good as dead. It was just a question of time.

Chapter 23

Ben arrived at the rendezvous five minutes early, to find that Françoise Schell had beaten him to it. He recognised her from her picture. She had taken a seat next to the full-height café window that overlooked Boulevard du Montparnasse, and was attacking an espresso coffee as though she lived on the stuff. She was well dressed in a no-nonsense skirt suit topped with the kind of fashionable neck scarf that only French women can carry off successfully. Her hair was a different style from the photo, and she was wearing noticeably more makeup. Next to her on the seat was a tiny handbag. Ben wondered how many of them you could make out of a single crocodile.

Françoise Schell looked sharply up at him as he approached. ‘Not quite what I imagined,’ she commented. ‘Younger, thinner and better looking.’

He put out a hand. ‘Ben Hope.’

She took it. Her grip was dry and hard, like the look in her eye. ‘Enchantée. Françoise Schell.’

‘My pleasure. May I?’ He pulled up a chair.

‘Please do. You’re English? Your accent had me puzzled. You speak French almost like a native.’

‘Half Irish,’ he said. ‘But I live in France now.’

‘How nice for you. Tell me all about yourself.’

Not the most subtle way to pump him for information. But as he was discovering, Françoise Schell didn’t waste time on subtlety. A waiter scooted over and Ben ordered coffee, a larger version of the same thing she was drinking. When they were alone again, he said, ‘Now the formalities are over, let’s dispense with all the getting-to-know-you stuff. You said there was something in particular about Romy’s phone message that caught your attention. What was that?’

One corner of her mouth curled up in a wry smile, and she waggled a finger at him. ‘Not so fast, Buster. First you need to lay your cards on the table. What do you have for me?’

‘No cards,’ Ben said. ‘Only this.’ He took out Romy’s phone, slid it across the tabletop towards her, and directed her to the video clip file.

‘I can’t see anything,’ she complained as she began to watch. ‘The picture’s all dark and out of focus.’

‘Let it run,’ he said, and waited while she went on watching, holding the phone close to her chest like a poker player. When the artifacts came into shot, he knew it by the curious look she fired at him.

He said, ‘This was taken three days ago in Tripoli.’