man looked up and met his gaze. He shook his head as if the fear of tardiness was the very last thing that would ever occupy his thoughts.
They descended the stairs with Victor leading. Leeson followed half a flight behind. Their shoes clattered on the concrete steps and echoed in the stairwell. The exit opened out onto the ground floor of the parking garage, next to the automated ticket machine. The level was bright with fluorescent lights, reducing the shadows to blurred outlines around cars and pillars.
‘How far is the restaurant?’ Victor asked as his gaze roamed their surroundings.
‘Not far,’ Leeson answered. ‘A couple of minutes maximum.’
Outside they turned left. Victor walked alongside Leeson as would a well-trained bodyguard. If he walked ahead he could better handle threats from the front, but would be useless at any originating from behind Leeson. The reverse was true if he walked behind. Next to Leeson provided the best compromise. He could also shove him to the ground or behind cover if necessary. Victor wasn’t a bodyguard, he wasn’t guarding Leeson against potential threats, but he wanted him to think he was.
The street was relatively quiet, with intermittent passing cars and a steady but light flow of pedestrians. Opposite the parking garage was a line of stores, all closed for the night so those on foot had no reason to use the street as anything other than a thoroughfare. Except a man standing on the corner up ahead. He stood on the opposite side of the road, outside the glow of a streetlamp that silhouetted him and hid his features. His height and build was a match for Dietrich.
Victor glanced over his shoulder, searching for sign of Coughlin or Jaeger, but saw no one. Leeson did not react, but Victor wouldn’t have expected him to. The silhouetted man was about thirty metres away. As they neared he turned around and stepped through the light, and Victor saw a knitted hat covering the back of the man’s head, a black leather jacket, stonewashed jeans and thick-soled boots, but no recognisable features. By the time Victor was twenty metres away the man had rounded the corner.
Leeson glanced Victor’s way. ‘I’m looking forward to this.’
‘And me,’ Victor said.
THIRTY-FOUR
Leeson was right about the proximity of the Japanese restaurant. It took one hundred and eighteen seconds to reach its front door from the point Victor had asked how far it was. They crossed the intersection on the opposite side of the road from where the man in the leather jacket had waited and walked twenty metres further along the street. Victor held the door open and Leeson passed him with an expected lack of thanks.
Inside, Victor’s nostrils were assailed by the smell of the open kitchen at the room’s far end. The room was dimly lit and the tables were set with plenty of space between them. It was more than half full, mostly with couples, except for a table of businessmen in suits celebrating the closing of a big deal. It had the unmistakable air of somewhere that served excellent food at massively inflated prices – somewhere Victor would not have chosen to eat, if only because the portion sizes would be such that he would leave hungry, or else be forced to eat half the menu.
An immaculately dressed maître d’ glided between the tables and greeted them with impeccable manners. She wore a black trouser suit and lots of makeup.
Leeson gave his name. ‘I have a nine p.m. reservation for my very good friend and I.’
The woman took menus from a stand and led them to their table. It was in the centre of the room.
‘Not here,’ Victor said. He’d already selected the most suitable of the available tables. He pointed. ‘That one, please.’
The woman nodded and changed direction, seating them at a table that lay along a wall, halfway between the door and the stone counter that divided the restaurant from the open kitchen. It was far from a perfect spot, but it would do. Victor drew back a chair for Leeson, who sat down facing the open kitchen, the restaurant entrance behind him. Leeson checked his watch as he shuffled the chair forward a little.
‘On time?’ Victor asked.
‘Precisely,’ Leeson said with a smile.
Victor glanced around the restaurant. There were no teenagers or children. The youngest person was at least twenty-five. Every diner was well dressed except himself, Victor noticed.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Leeson said. ‘So you are a little under-attired. Everyone will assume you’re so