Paz knew he had no choice but to update Franklin on the disastrous events of the last twenty-four hours. He finished his report by explaining his hastily put together plan of taking García out on the steps of the courthouse where he was due to appear in a few days’ time.

He repeated Luciano’s line that he’d heard in the boardroom an hour earlier. “García dies and your secrets remain secret.”

Paz fully expected to be on the receiving end of one of Franklin’s trademark rants but it wasn’t forthcoming. Instead, his reply was calm and reasoned.

“Okay, I can see the wisdom in that approach. But, let’s be frank, your men have just had their arses whipped in a firefight with the police. I honestly don’t rate their chances of taking García out next Monday when he’ll be surrounded by officers as he enters the federal court. If we miss him then, we’re all fucked.”

“Sir, I promise you that this time—”

Franklin ignored the interruption and carried on talking. “However, I know of a man who might be able to help us solve our problem. In the past five years I’ve had need of his services on two occasions and both times he was successful.”

Paz jumped in. “A hitman?”

“Paz, I’m talking about a contract killer who, to the best of my knowledge, has never failed to deliver on an assignment. He’s based in Rio but operates all over South America. No one knows his true identity but he is rumoured to be an ex-colonel who served in an elite Spetsnaz unit operated by Russian Special Forces. He is known as The Ghost and charges two million dollars per hit.”

Paz let out an audible gasp.

“He uses a sporting memorabilia website as a means of contact. It purports to sell old programmes from classic South American soccer and rugby matches from days gone by. You need to go on the live chat option and enquire whether they can source an authentic medal from the 1958 Brazil World Cup winning team. After that, you wait to see if he engages. I hope for your sake he does. I’m about to leave the office, so text me if this is a go and I’ll transfer the necessary funds to the special account.”

The line went dead and Paz got straight to work. The website was SA-Futbulsports.rio and looked completely genuine. The home page was peppered with colour images of classic sports programmes as well as old leather footballs, complete with laces and ancient-looking rugby boots. Paz hovered the cursor over the live chat button, clicked the mouse and entered the question, exactly as he’d been instructed by Franklin. The underscore icon pulsated in the box for what felt to Paz like an eternity, before suddenly breaking into life.

When would you need the medal by?