‘No,’ Most corrected Louis, ‘he is not vulnerable there. We would have to get onto the land unnoticed, which means evading cameras and sensors, then find an ambush point and an escape route after. We are also talking about four armed men, including at least two police, as well as Bilbija himself. Once again, I remind you that we are not in the business of engaging the police in gun battles.’

‘I wasn’t thinking of a firefight.’

‘Maybe an RPG? I can get you a grenade launcher, no problem. It will open the Audi like a tin can and blow Bilbija to pieces. But we’ll still be on foot, pursued by armed men, with more rushing to join them. We won’t get out alive.’

‘I wasn’t considering RPGs either,’ said Louis.

‘What, then?’ said Most. ‘You will ask God to help you obliterate Bilbija from above?’

Louis returned the photographs to Most for disposal.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘That’s exactly what I’m going to do.’

Chapter XLVIII

Frend contacted the Vuksans using a fresh SIM card. He kept a stock of them in his safe for emergencies, and it had already been decided with Radovan Vuksan that neither of them would use the same number to remain in contact for more than a couple of days. Frend had made sure to send, by encrypted email, a list of the numbers at his disposal so that his calls would be identifiable, and Radovan had done the same.

Frend had packed a bag in preparation for the move to the apartment above his office. He kept some changes of clothing there – shirts and underwear, for the most part, along with a spare suit and basic toiletries – but not sufficient for his current needs. He would not be happy to return home until the problem of the Vuksans was resolved, but it seemed increasingly unlikely that the solution on offer would satisfy either of the brothers.

‘Well?’ said Radovan, when he answered Frend’s call.

‘You can’t go home,’ said Frend. ‘And they have given us an ultimatum: You have one week to leave Europe, or face the consequences.’

Radovan was silent for a time.

‘Spiridon will not go,’ he replied at last.

‘Then, with respect,’ said Frend, ‘Spiridon will die.’

One hour later, Zivco Ilić was waiting for Frend at Café-Restaurant Corbaci in the Museumplatz. Corbaci’s modest exterior belied what lay within, including a beautiful vaulted ceiling of oriental tiles. Ilić looked out of place among the mix of tourists and Viennese, but it was hard to think of anywhere Ilić would not have looked out of place, apart from under a rock. Frend had never warmed to the man, but thankfully his exposure to him had always been limited.