Kale switched the phone to his other ear and opened the briefcase. The money was there beneath the folder in bundles of £100 notes, but he did not count them. He lifted the folder and opened it to take out the photographs and lay them side by side on the bench.

‘Listen carefully to what I tell you because you will receive nothing in writing and you may not take the photographs with you. If you wish me to repeat anything, ask.’

‘Hold on.’ Kale took out a small, dog-eared notebook and a biro pen. ‘Okay.’

‘Photograph A is Robert Gryffe. He is a Minister of State at the Foreign Office.’ Kale had recognized the face but been unable to place it. So, political assassination. It meant nothing to him. ‘Gryffe has special responsibilities in acting for the Foreign Minister at the European Commission of the EEC in Brussels. He is there at least one week a month, during which he stays at a terraced house he owns in the Rue de Pavie, number twenty-four. Today is Thursday. On Sunday morning Gryffe has an appointment there to meet the man pictured in photograph B. That man’s identity is of no importance to you, just so long as you remember the face. I want both men dead . . . without suspicion of murder. How you do that is your business.’ The voice paused and Kale waited.

‘You will then proceed to the Rue de Commerce, the top-floor flat in the apartment block at number thirty-three. It will be empty. There is always a key below the mat. Let yourself in and go straight to the main living room. On the fireplace wall hangs a painting by Brueghel, behind it a safe set in the wall. The combination is three, zero, five, nine, six, two. Inside you will find a black briefcase . . .’

‘Burglary ain’t my thing,’ Kale interrupted, his voice flat and cold.

The other hesitated. ‘The apartment has already been checked out by a professional. You will simply be required to collect the case and leave.’ Again the hesitation, the reluctance to answer Kale’s unasked question. Kale was only too aware of the power of his silence. ‘The case cannot not be taken before the . . . before you have fulfilled your task at the Rue de Pavie.’

‘Go on.’

‘You will take it straight to the Gare du Midi and deposit it in box thirty-nine at the left-luggage lockers. The key is taped to the inside of the lid of the briefcase beside you. If you return to the station at midday on Monday you will find a further fifty thousand pounds in cash in the same locker – assuming, of course, that you have successfully fulfilled the contract. Do you have any questions?’

‘No.’