Lambardi waved at the bar for two beers as De Payns put his Adidas pack between his feet. He was reassured by the presence of the CZ but not comfortable about the passports he was now carrying. He’d managed to keep Lambardi out of his office, insisting that they meet back at the bar. He’d collected the passports and returned to Bar Luca, but he felt vulnerable knowing Murad was around. Still, despite the risks, he was reluctant to call off tonight’s operation. The chance to trap Lambardi and lure Murad into the open was not to be missed. He would normally have used his time alone in the office to warn the support team with a visual signal—a light or something reflective—or ask for a physical contact with the chief of the support team, which would require an orange gommette or a hand in his hair. However, the stop at the office had not been planned and de Payns had to hope that the support team would understand something was wrong and provide him with what backup they could.

De Payns scanned the bar, looking for threats. The two Turks from the ferry bar had a table beside the door—they were most certainly Sayef Albar heavies. Margaux, the curvy waitress, was laughing at Lambardi’s attempts to charm her. She was way above Lambardi’s pay grade but de Payns hadn’t told him that yet. Neither had Margaux, who liked the big tips he gave her.

Keeping a smile on his face, de Payns walked to the jukebox, slapping the pockets of his Levi’s for change, which allowed him to turn back. ‘Any coins?’ he asked Lambardi, aware that in a sea of drinking tourists, two sets of dark, sober eyes were aimed at him.

Lambardi leaned back in his chair and tried to get his fingers into the pocket of his shorts. As he pulled out a handful of coins, de Payns saw movement to his left—the tall Turk was on his feet and walking towards the toilets. With his gaze focused on Lambardi, de Payns watched from the corner of his eye as the tall Turk, his burgundy shirt worn untucked to hide his handgun, paused at the start of the corridor where the toilets were and spoke with someone concealed in the shadows. De Payns moved back to his seat and the tall Turk broke away from his conversation, turned to face Lambardi and cocked his head. Michael Lambardi had been summoned.

De Payns’ heart rate jumped slightly. This was the first open contact between Lambardi and his handlers—the Italian knew who they were.

Lambardi stood and leaned in to de Payns. ‘Got those passports, Alain?’