Miranda didn’t answer. From her tracksuit pocket she took a small slim grey metal case and laid it on the table. Perhaps, he thought, that was her answer.

‘What’s this?’

‘The case is shielded against all forms of scanning,’ she replied, hardly speaking above a whisper. ‘It’s the sort of shielding some people are using for their credit cards these days, but this one’s at the triple X end of the scale. Open it.’

Nick eased the case open. Inside, nestling in a frame, was a black card with a single word printed in the top left corner in white capitals. EMERGENCE. He took the card out of the case and turned it over. There was nothing on the back. The material felt odd. He couldn’t have said with certainty whether it was plastic or metal.

‘I need a clear understanding with you, Nick,’ Miranda went on. ‘After this, I don’t hear from you again, OK? And I especially don’t hear from the police.’

‘That depends what you’re giving me.’

‘Admission to an auction. To be held next Wednesday at six p.m.’

‘What kind of auction?’

‘You’ll have to go and find out.’

‘Where’s it being held?’

‘Do we have an understanding? Date, time, place, admission. That’s all I can give you. Anything else is … not mine to reveal. So, are we agreed?’

Nick looked down at the card in his hand. Emergence. What did it mean? What was being auctioned? ‘This will lead me to my father?’

‘Are we agreed?’

Her expression gave nothing away. Nick had to make a choice. But he sensed that in the final analysis there was really only one. He nodded. ‘We’re agreed.’

‘Good. Laugavegur three, Reykjavík, Iceland. That’s the address.’

‘And—’

‘And nothing.’ She took the card gently from his hand, replaced it in the case and clicked the case shut. ‘Don’t show that to anyone until you use it at the auction.’

‘But—’

‘Goodbye, Nick.’

It was nearly noon when Wada woke. Annoyed with herself for sleeping so long, she hurried out and followed the free map she took from the lobby to the nearby Hotel Arnarson, which looked a few degrees smarter than the Sol, but still a long way from swanky. She was pretty sure she recognized the reception guy by his voice as the more helpful of the two men she’d spoken to on the phone. According to his lapel badge, he was called Bjarni. And it soon transpired he recognized her voice as well. After offering Wada his personal apologies for the weather – ‘Horrible, but that’s spring in Iceland’ – he frowned slightly at her and said, ‘Did we speak on the phone recently? I feel I know your voice.’

‘I called to ask about my friend Martin Caldwell.’

‘Ah. Of course. Yes. You did not leave your name.’

‘I am Wada.’

‘Have you heard from Mr Caldwell, Miss Wada?’