He looked expectantly at Mahsoud, a crafty expression on his face.

Mahsoud kept his own face impassive.

‘For people like us it pays to be cautious,’ he said. ‘I’m sure that’s all it is. But I am grateful to you, sayidi. That explains why I have not yet been informed. I expect I shall get a call tomorrow from the Saudis.’

‘Ah,’ said the old man, his tone suddenly less genial, and his gaze harder. ‘I’m afraid you have a problem, there. I understand from one of my men that your satellite telephone isn’t working. He has just gone to your room and taken it away for repair. I hope it will be okay, but one never knows.’

Mahsoud smiled, faintly, waiting for the follow-up.

Once again, he felt as though that one good eye was trying to break into his mind.

‘We are both men of the world,’ said the old man. ‘Is it not so? I do not know what your mission is, and I do not want to know. Tripoli, Benghazi, Cairo, the moon… who cares? I wish you success. But you will need our assistance.’

‘Go on,’ said Mahsoud.

‘If your satellite telephone is beyond repair, and your Saudi friends cannot contact you, you will need someone to give you the new location, yes?’

‘Yes, sayidi,’ said Mahsoud.

‘And I think that information would be worth quite a lot more than one thousand dollars.’

Mahsoud said nothing, just waited for the inevitable.

‘I can tell you the new location myself,’ said the old man, ‘because Shaladi told me.’

Zeff Mahsoud cleared his throat and stared at the old man’s one eye for a few moments.

‘We are both men of the world, as you say,’ said Mahsoud. ‘So let us – what do the Americans say? Let us cut to the chase. How much?’

‘Twenty-five thousand dollars,’ said the old man. ‘And another twenty-five thousand to send Tariq with you. My word doesn’t run so strong in the new place, but you will be safe with him along.’

Mahsoud stood up, walked to the window, and stared out into the night, thinking.

Fact was, he had no way of knowing if this old man was trustworthy – assuming the information he had was correct, he could easily be playing more than one side, and Mahsoud might find himself walking into a very difficult situation.

But the guy had him over a barrel, and they both knew it.

He had no choice.

He turned back to the old man.

‘Fifty thousand dollars?’ he said. ‘I can arrange this via the tribal bank, and my people in England. But no more surprises. And you stay out of everything. And I will need my satellite phone to come back in working order.’

‘Pah,’ said the old man, with a wave of his hand and a smile. ‘I think the problem with the phone was very small. A loose screw, I believe.’