A drawback was heavy traffic in Chiang Mai at peak hours. In the two decades he had spent half his time based there, he had noticed the inexorable increase of car and motorbike numbers as the population of this former capital of the Lanna Kingdom grew to more than a million. But in this respect it was no different from most cities in Asia and the rest of the world.

He landed at Don Mueang airport, Bangkok, at dusk and faced the drudgery of an hour-long ride to a rented apartment in a condo on Soi 22 off Sukhumvit, which he had used occasionally, partly because the managers never asked for a passport or credit card. Every transaction was in cash.

On arrival, Cavalier took keys from the elderly Thai woman who had run this condo ever since he’d first come a decade ago. She greeted him with a beaming smile, remembering his respectful manners and healthy tips. He dumped his bag in the fourth-floor room and left for his meeting with Wombat, who stayed in one of the city’s tallest buildings, the 88-storey, 300-metre-high Baiyoke Tower II.

‘My, you like doing it in style!’ Cavalier said as they greeted each other mid-afternoon at the revolving roof deck on the eighty-fourth floor. It gave them a 360-degree view of burgeoning Bangkok. ‘Always good to see you, Wombat, even in the worst-polluted big city on the planet. It has four per cent less oxygen than anywhere else.’

‘Yes, but forty per cent more fun!’ Wombat pointed out over the skyline. ‘I love this hotel.’ Then he nodded to his briefcase. ‘I have the things we discussed.’

They walked to the rooftop bar and music lounge, found a discrete table but one that still offered fine views. Wombat pulled out a large manila envelope and handed him a passport.

‘Jones is making you an Englishman again,’ he said. ‘This time called Ray Kenneth Waugh.’

‘Hmm,’ Cavalier muttered, ‘you’ve never given me a middle name before. Must be an important fellow.’

‘You have your own medical supplies company. You’ll be coming from London via Bangkok then to Melbourne. You’ll make your own arrangements into Hobart. This time we’ve added some more background business and, of course, a solid profile.’

‘Don’t like my photo much.’

‘Sorry about that.’

Cavalier held the passport photo closer.

‘I look younger. Much younger.’

‘Mr Waugh is. We have you down as forty-eight.’

‘Charming! And my hair! Strange haircut. You’ve chopped it away.’

‘You can have that done here. You comb it forward.’

‘No, won’t be doing that. I might crop it short.’ Cavalier examined the photo. ‘And the colour. What happened to my pepper and salt?’

‘Thought we could do away with your natural condiments. You dye it dark.’

‘What about glasses too?’