He was getting old, he supposed. He was turning into the very people he had loathed as a young man. Yearning for the past; now, of course, he understood why they had felt that way. He still wouldn’t let anything be done over the internet. He was classed as a dinosaur because of that, but he didn’t care – he didn’t trust it. They could shove cyberspace up their arses. For the right price, like most things in this life, it could be abused. He didn’t trust anything that had the power to reach millions of people at a stroke. It seemed to him that computers bred laziness and apathy. People were too quick to trust in something that they couldn’t build themselves, that they had to rely on other people to maintain for them, and at great cost as well. It was a recipe for disaster. He particularly worried about leaving a trail that could be discovered without the person involved even leaving their office. No, he wasn’t prepared to join the cyber rats.

He worked in a world where the fewer people in the know the better. He still relied on private meetings and word of mouth. Fortunately for him, so did the Colombians. Now they had finally agreed to meet him on his own turf. It was the last step. That they had felt confident enough to come to him was a coup in itself. They needed to show him that they trusted him, and he had to prove to them that he could guarantee them the protection needed. He had done just that. They had landed safely in England, and no one had questioned them.

It was dark now, the lights were on across London. It was funny, but he always thought that London looked more impressive by night. It looked more alive to him, full of possibilities and secrets. He glanced at his watch, a diamond Rolex with a platinum face. It was just after nine p.m. They would be here in the next ten minutes or so. He glanced around him. He had everything ready. The drinks cabinet – that he personally thought looked like a fucking cheap filing cabinet – had every alcoholic beverage known to man, and the leather sofas were placed strategically so everyone could interact together without having to move about too much. There was also food in the kitchen, should anyone request it.

Salvatore Ferreira was an extremely cautious man. Michael appreciated that trait. He rarely left his native Colombia. Michael had taken over a whole floor of one of the top London hotels to guarantee Salvatore his privacy, and also to give him the chance to enjoy the luxury such an establishment could provide.