‘That guy,’ the man said, pointing his gun at Haut, ‘raped my wife, just now.’

‘Drop the weapon!’ another guard called, and moved close.

‘I have to avenge my wife!’ the man yelled.

‘That’s a lie,’ Haut said. ‘He wants to assassinate me!’

At the third call to drop the weapon, the stalker did as ordered. A guard swooped on the gun. The stalker glared at Haut and gabbled on about his alleged wife. Two guards tackled the stalker to the ground. Haut explained he was a businessman from Australia doing oil deals and capital raising.

‘I’ve never seen this character before,’ he said.

‘Sir, why don’t you leave?’ a security guard suggested. ‘We’ll handle this.’

‘Thank you,’ Haut said, taking a wallet out of his pocket and handing the guard a business card. ‘Give that to the police.’

The guards lifted the stalker to his feet and frog-marched him out of the Flatiron. Haut hurried out and walked briskly back towards the Freemasons’ Arms. His phone rang. It was Cavalier. Haut, breathless but relieved, explained what had happened.

‘Where were they taking him?’ Cavalier asked.

‘Don’t know. They moved towards Broadway. Where are you?’

‘I’m in a cab heading your way. Did he have a weapon?’

‘Yeah. He had it drawn when he entered the Flatiron. The guards took it off him.’

‘I’ll call you later,’ Cavalier said and rang off.

*

Cavalier directed the cab down Broadway. He caught sight of several men circling one man in the street opposite the Flatiron. Cavalier asked the cabbie, an Indian with whom he had been talking cricket, to stop. Cavalier waited. The stalker seemed to be trying to move back the way they had come. The guards were pushing him in the chest and indicating he should go the other way. The guards moved a few metres away and looked back. The stalker seemed to be doing as instructed. The guards had a quick conference. They moved to the stalker and began leading him away again.

Cavalier felt a twinge of memory in the way the man loped, Neanderthal-style, his long arms dangling. A tingle went up his spine. Could it be Gerard Dubois, the fourth man in the Mekong killing squad, the one who shot and nearly killed him in Laos?

Cavalier paid the fare, alighted from the cab and moved along Broadway on the opposite side. The guards edged and pointed the stalker to the 23rd Street subway. They escorted him down into the bowels of the underground network, watched him buy a metro-card and then move onto the platform for the uptown train.

Cavalier pulled his collar up and his fedora down. He adjusted his special infra-red glasses that he had used when he killed the three assassins in Hobart. Then he descended the steps along with a rush of people venturing home after work. Cavalier bought a metro-card and eased down the platform to within twenty metres of the stalker.