Pan’s demeanour had changed from their first meeting. He was awkward and very nervous when he tried to explain that their deal was off.

‘The Dutch bank won’t release the funds,’ he said finally. ‘I’ve already taken steps to have deeds on my Jakarta property annulled. My Indonesian government contacts say they will give me another set of deeds.’

All the time the three men kept their eyes on Haut. Coffee and chocolate biscuits were served. The three men declined both. Pan took coffee, but could not hold the cup steady. His hands were shaking. Haut stayed as calm as possible. He sipped the coffee, ate a biscuit and began a second one.

‘Any reason for the Dutch bank doing that?’ Haut asked, as if it were not a major problem.

‘Not sure. I’m trying to find out. The time difference,’ Pan said, wincing a smile, ‘makes it hard sometimes to reach the right executive. But I won’t raise capital with them again. Can’t trust them.’

Haut feigned illness, asked where the toilet was, and left the room holding his stomach. He decided he would have to make an exit. Just as he returned to the conference room, one of the strangers was coming in his direction.

‘Something wrong?’ he asked, guiding Haut to his seat.

‘Could be an ulcer,’ Haut said, ‘caffeine sometimes triggers it. I’ll be okay, though.’

Haut asked for water, which was duly brought to him by Pan’s assistant. He sipped it and asked, ‘Your money was secured against land you have in Indonesia, correct?’

‘That’s … yes … yes,’ Pan replied, his eyes glancing at the three men, who looked agitated. Haut doubled up.

‘It must … be … oh shit!’ He struggled to his feet. ‘Excuse me again, sorry.’

He moved off towards the toilet, but instead of going in, he darted to a fire escape and hurried downstairs and into the street. Haut jumped in a taxi.

‘Airport,’ he said, ‘as fast as you can!’

Haut arrived at Singapore airport. He saw Cavalier’s message and then rang a female assistant.

‘I have to vamoose, fast. I need a plane out of here.’

‘What’s wrong?’ the assistant asked.

‘I’ll tell you later. I want you to pack up all my stuff in the apartment and ship it off to my New York address. My computers, my clothes, everything. There are even my plans for a tunnel in Israel up on whiteboards. I have my passport, wallet, phone and plane ticket. That’s all.’

‘I’ll do it straight away. But please tell me what’s wrong.’

‘Sorry, not now.’