‘Right.’ The man nodded back into the open door of the car. There were two others in there. A man in the driver’s seat and a woman in the rear. The woman had an overcoat on her lap and her right hand lay under the coat in an odd way. ‘One minute is quite enough.’

‘Well?’ Silva faced the man, aware her back was to a low wall. Beyond, the sea frothed on rocks far below.

‘We’re with the government.’

‘Good for you. Can I see some identification?’

‘My name is Simeon Weiss. There’s no need to be alarmed, Ms da Silva, we’re just here to help you.’

‘Sure you are.’

‘I’ve come to warn you that Matthew Fairchild is mentally ill and his schemes are ill-thought out and dangerous. He snatches at threads and constructs elaborate scenarios, dreams up stories, lives in a world of make-believe.’

‘Make-believe?’

‘Yes.’ Weiss paused and smiled. ‘And that brings me on to your mother. She stumbled on a minor discrepancy to do with a multimillion-dollar arms deal. The story might have made the business pages, but your mother wanted more. She elaborated the facts, embellished the story to the point where it was unpublishable garbage. Fairchild went one better and twisted the whole thing into a tale of dark forces spreading across the globe. He’s quite mad and, for the safety of you and your family and friends, you’d really be better off not having anything to do with him.’

‘Is that a threat?’

‘It’s advice. Good advice.’ Weiss sidled closer. ‘And people who ignore our advice usually come to regret doing so.’

In a blink the distance between them vanished and Weiss was up close, his hand at Silva’s neck. As Silva’s arm went up in a block, something jabbed into her stomach. She looked down to where Weiss’s other hand held a small pistol.

‘Steady,’ Weiss said. ‘We wouldn’t want a silly accident.’

Silva choked as Weiss forced her onto tiptoes, his fingers tightening round her throat. The stone wall pressed into the back of her thighs. One push and she’d tumble over and fall.

‘It’s a long way down.’ Weiss made a play of glancing behind her. ‘What do you reckon? Fifteen metres? Twenty? And nobody would ever suspect a thing. You’d be just another sad statistic.’

She tried to speak as Weiss pushed her backwards. For a moment she was weightless, the horizon spinning as her vision blurred. In a desperate attempt to free herself she kicked out, but her foot met with nothing but air as Weiss released his grip and stepped sideways. She fell and grasped the wall, slumping down on the pavement as he walked away.