‘There is a weak link, and it is you, my friend. It is your people, your operation. We are hearing there was a call made to your Customs and Excise, and they passed it on to ours.’

A call? What the fuck?

‘Hold on, Javier. We’re tight at this end. Water-tight.’

‘Bullshit,’ said Javier. ‘Hijueputa!’

Harlan’s back went up. ‘What you calling me, you wop bastard?’ But he knew. Lots of trips with Charlie to meet with the Colombian cartel had made it very clear that hijueputa was son of a bitch.

Javier lapsed completely into his mother tongue then. Tossing more swear words down the phone at Harlan.

Harlan counted to ten.

Finally, Javier fell silent.

‘Look,’ said Harlan. He was choking with rage but he couldn’t afford to fall out with Javier. ‘Let’s meet, shall we? Discuss this. You in London?’

‘I don’t know, I . . .’

‘You are, yeah? Then come out to the house. Let’s sit down and talk. We can work this out.’

Javier said nothing.

‘Come on, Javier. How long we been doing business? I can sort this, I promise you.’

‘No. We’ll meet somewhere neutral.’

‘OK. The Savoy for lunch? One on Wednesday? I’ll book it.’

‘You are not the man your father was,’ said Javier.

Harlan gritted his teeth at that. ‘Next week, yeah? At the hotel. That’ll give me time to straighten this.’

‘All right! I will be there,’ said Javier, and slapped the phone down.

149

All the furniture cover business premises were torched next. Then two of the clubs. Then one of the snooker halls. By the weekend, Harlan’s manor was decimated and everyone around him was nervous, backing away because he was knocking heads together. He shrieked at anyone who came near. When the police turned up, asking questions about the helicopter crash – as the AAI men had said they would – and about the destruction of his businesses, he sat through it, answered convincingly, then the instant they were gone he roared around the place, throwing priceless vases into mirrors, swiping bone china off the dining table, trying somehow to work off the murderous rage that was building up in him at the sheer injustice of it all.

His crew, one by one, faded away. With his loss of control of the manor came a loss of control of himself, making him dangerous. Fucker would as soon shoot you as look at you right now. His men weren’t stupid: after one of them answered back and found himself battered to a pulp, they made themselves scarce.