Milton took a second napkin and López’s pen and wrote down the telephone number that John Smith was using. The number was brand new, allocated to the SIM that Ziggy had purchased at the branch of T-Mobile in Beethovenstraat the day before. Milton had been concerned that López would be able to find out that it was a virgin number and, if he did, that it would arouse his suspicion. Ziggy had taken measures to make it look a little more authentic and had reassured Milton that if López did have the means to check, he would not find the registration was recent. Instead, he would find that the number had been registered to a Mr. John Smith two days after his release from Wormwood Scrubs.

López took the napkin, folded it neatly down the middle, and slipped it into the inside pocket of his jacket. “Thank you, Mr. Smith. Transfer the money and then give me a day or two. I’ll be in touch.”

6

Milton left the club and set off on foot. He hadn’t given López any notice that he was going to try to meet him that night and, on that basis, it would have been impressive if surveillance could have been arranged in the time that elapsed between Milton leaving the table and exiting the club. It wasn’t impossible, though, and Milton had not managed to stay alive in a profession as dangerous as his for so long without treating all possibilities—no matter how unlikely—with the respect that they deserved.

Milton came to a stop in the centre of a bridge over one of the city’s canals and looked back: nothing. He looked at his watch and saw that it was coming up to half past eleven. He felt the cool night air on his face.

He had sown a seed of doubt in López’s mind as to whether the relationship with Jackson was stable, and, although Milton knew that his story would not stand up to a significant investigation, Ziggy had scattered enough misinformation to maintain those doubts long enough for Milton to push through to the second stage of his plan.

That was his focus now.

He took out his phone and called for an Uber.

* * *

Milton got out at the foot of the apartment block and took the lift to the penthouse. He opened the door and stepped inside, finally allowing the tension of the evening’s activities to melt away. He stood on the landing and looked out of the long window onto the sparkling lights of the city below. He knew that he had taken a risk with López, and, although the danger was only going to escalate from now on, at least he had respite for a few hours.