Ben had first studied Spanish at the Ministry of Defence’s Centre for Languages and Culture in Shrivenham, and later refined his fluency during his years as a private kidnap rescue operator. As he was paying for his meal he showed the waiter the photo of Wolf and said in Spanish, ‘This is my brother, Mike. Said he’d meet me here in town, but he hasn’t shown up. Wondered if you might have seen him in here?’

The old standby. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. When the waiter looked blank and shook his head Ben asked, ‘Think anybody else here might have seen him? It’d be within the last couple of days or so.’

The waiter shook his head again. ‘I’m always here, six days a week. This job, you have to be good with faces. If your brother – you said his name is Mike? If he had been in here, I’d have noticed him.’

Win some, lose some. Ben thanked him and left.

He was wandering further through the town, deep in thought, when he came across another restaurant in the maze of narrow, winding streets. It was a tapas bar, smaller than the place he’d eaten in. They were closing up for the night but the door was still open. Ben looked in, saw the simple decor and the mismatched chairs and tables, and his instinct told him this was more the kind of place that Jaden Wolf would gravitate to. A woman with an apron and black hair tied back was sweeping the floor. She turned as Ben appeared in the doorway and said, ‘We’re closed.’

He stepped inside. ‘I know, and I’m sorry to bother you, but you might be able to help me. Do you have a moment?’

He gave her the same story that he was looking for his brother. She leaned on her broom handle while she gazed at the photo, then shook her head no. Ben thanked her anyway and was about to take the photo back when a middle-aged guy emerged from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel, and she called him over. They related like husband and wife. ‘Tomás, this gentleman is looking for his brother.’ She showed him. Tomás peered at Wolf’s picture, frowned at Ben and said, ‘Your brother?’

Ben said, ‘Technically my half-brother. We don’t look much alike, I know.’

Tomás touched a finger to his own lips. He asked, ‘Does he have—?’

Ben felt a little electric current whirr in his chest. ‘Gold teeth?’ he replied, beating Tomás to the punch. ‘That’s him. He had an accident when he was younger.’

‘His name is … Jack? Jack Cullen?’

Ben was glad he hadn’t said it was Mike. ‘That’s right, Jack. So when was he in here?’

‘Oh, two, three days ago. I remember that he asked me about the Moncayo family.’