Salvatore Ferreira was dark-haired, dark-eyed and dark-skinned and he possessed a very proud countenance. Michael understood that as well – without that innate arrogance neither of them would have achieved anything of note. Michael was pleased to see that the man was very well dressed in a bespoke suit, handsewn shoes, and without the usual South-American need for loud, garish jewellery. He looked just what he was: a well-heeled businessman.

They shook hands affably; each had a very strong grip. Sizing each other up, they were both pleased with what they saw in their prospective business partner. Michael knew his size gave him the edge, he was a powerful-looking man. Patrick Costello had told him many years before, ‘Always walk into a place like you already own it, and the chances are that eventually you fucking will.’ It was good advice, and something that he had never forgotten.

‘It’s an honour to have you here, Salvatore.’

His tone conveyed the respect the man required from him. After all, he was the main supplier, the benefactor – without him, Michael would never have been able to guarantee such huge amounts of drugs to the people he dealt with. This was something that had never been done before on such a large scale. Thanks to Ferreira, he had an endless supply of cocaine that was purer than anything else on the market. It could be cut over and over again, and still be purer than anything in Europe. Everyone was a winner.

‘I am pleased to be here, Michael. My first time in London. Already I am in love with this country.’

Michael grinned. ‘It’s a funny old town, Salvatore. But it is also one of the biggest tourist destinations in the world. The Queen sees to that, mate. We may be a small country, but we are a rich one. Europe has always looked to us for guidance. We are the main players, as we always have been.’

Salvatore sat down on the black leather sofa gracefully. Michael knew he had come out of one of the worst slums on earth, that he had no real education – except what the Catholic priests had beaten into him on the odd occasion he had gone to school. Yet he was feared and respected by everyone he dealt with. There was more to this man than met the eye. He was not what Michael had been expecting. He had been told, on good authority, that the Colombians were basically fucking animals, without any social graces, but he had cast his net wider for information, and found out a lot more about the man by himself. You didn’t live as long as Salvatore unless you had something going for you up top. Salvatore was already coming across as a man after his own heart, who had embraced the financial aspects that his career had provided for him, and who had then learnt how to carry himself in any company.