She raised one of her withered hands. ‘Before you go, Mr Bannerman, let me warn you that should you attempt to harm my son I shall fight you.’

‘Then you will lose,’ Bannerman said, and he shut the door behind him.

II

Lapointe dialled the combination with trembling fingers and the door of his safe swung open. There was no money in here, just large Manila folders tied around with red ribbon to contain their bulging contents. These were all his secret records. The companies, the deals, statements of account going back nearly twenty years. It was a large safe, but his records filled it. He had been meticulous, his memory such that he could pinpoint almost any deal, any company, within minutes. It would take someone unfamiliar with his system hours, perhaps days, to make sense of it all. There was nothing here that would convict him in a court, but in the wrong hands they could destroy him.

As he transferred them one by one to the suitcase he had opened on his desk, he felt the sick fear he had lived with for the past fifteen hours turning again in his stomach. Why had Jansen been so feeble? Surely he could have bought Bannerman off. Lapointe blamed the old lady. He conjured an image of her, frail and delicate in her wheelchair. He heard her voice, supercilious and condescending. What power was it she had over them all? She was, after all, just an old woman. But it didn’t matter any more. He would not have to see her again. Or her weak, ineffectual son, who had, as usual, left him to clean up his mess. Now it was all over. When Jansen came back from the Bahamas he would be gone. To live out his last years in comfort and warmth on his farm in Malta, enjoying the fruits of his years of labour. The Jansens would be all right, but to hell with them, he didn’t care any more. He had committed his final act of loyalty, as much for himself as for them, and now he was going.

He was nearly finished packing when the phone rang. ‘What is it?’

‘Security at reception, sir. There is a gentleman here who wants to see you. A foreigner. He says he has a message from Madame Jansen. Shall I send him up?’

‘No. Ask him to leave his message with you and have someone bring it to me.’

‘I’ve already suggested that, sir. But he’s most insistent that the message should be delivered personally.’

What was the old lady up to now? ‘All right, send him up.’ Lapointe was nervous. Surely the fool hadn’t told his mother. He hurriedly finished packing his case and checked the time. His flight was not until late afternoon.

There was a knock at the door.

‘Entrez.’

A stocky, powerful-looking man with a mop of curly dark hair and cold blue eyes stepped into his office.