rich you’ve long since ceased to care about your appearance.’
‘Reassuring,’ Victor replied.
As they perused the menus, a waiter came by to take their order for drinks.
‘Two large Glenmorangies,’ Leeson said. ‘No ice.’
‘One,’ Victor corrected. ‘And a San Pellegrino for me.’
‘Ah, yes,’ Leeson said once the waiter had gone. ‘You’re driving.’
Victor nodded.
Leeson ordered shark fin soup and katsu curry. Victor asked for a green salad and stir-fried teriyaki vegetables with rice noodles.
‘Can you ask the chef to make the sauce extra sweet?’ he said to the waiter.
Leeson huffed. ‘A man can’t be sustained on such a meagre meal. At least have some chicken or fish with your stir fry.’
‘My stomach is a little raw today. I don’t want to upset it.’
‘Extra sweet teriyaki sauce?’
‘I want the sugar.’
The younger man laughed. ‘You never cease to surprise me, Mr Kooi. You might be the only gentleman I’ve ever met who can lay claim to such a thing.’
‘There is a first time for everything.’
They made small talk over their starters. Leeson revealed nothing about himself while asking nothing probing of Victor in return. The primary topic of conversation was the Rolls-Royce. Victor was happy to discuss it while he maintained a vigilant watch of the pedestrians and vehicles that passed by the restaurant’s plate-glass front.
The waiter cleared their tableware and they assured him of the starter’s quality. Victor asked for a replacement for his empty bottle of mineral water.
Leeson toyed with the Scotch in his glass. ‘Thirsty?’
‘It’s important to stay hydrated.’
A smirk. ‘And how did I know you were going to say that?’
‘Then my run of surprising you was short lived.’
Leeson said something in return but Victor wasn’t listening. A car drove past on the road outside, and its headlights momentarily illuminated the mouth of an alleyway on the opposite side of the street and the two men standing there. One taller than the other, and broader. One in a knitted hat, black leather jacket, blue jeans and boots. The second wearing the same outfit, except his leather jacket reached his knees. They were too far away and the illumination too brief to see their faces.
Dietrich and Coughlin.
Their surveillance had been obvious from the beginning when Victor had spotted the SUV tailing him on the motorway, and then on the street corner. He could put the first two incidents down to underestimating him, or maybe even over-eagerness, but standing across the street with only the most basic attempt at concealment was too sloppy for men of any skill if they wanted to remain unseen. Which made Victor doubt there was an ambush waiting to be initiated. More likely they wanted him to see them. Leeson wanted him to know they were never far away. He trusted Kooi enough to go to dinner with him, but not enough to be unprotected. If Leeson was testing his trustworthiness they would have kept themselves hidden.
Something didn’t sit right with the assessment, however. He knew there were facts he wasn’t privy to, and so any conclusion he reached was unreliable. He survived primarily by constantly assessing the odds, by predicting threats before they appeared and acting instead of reacting.
Another car passed and again Victor glimpsed the two men.
Far too sloppy.
Something was wrong.
‘You told me the cell reception at the farmhouse is unreliable,’ Victor said.
‘That’s right.’
‘Yet I saw both Coughlin and Dietrich have phones.’
‘Indeed.’
‘Then call them.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘I’ll explain later and I’ll apologise if I’m wrong. But for now do exactly as I tell you: call Dietrich.’
‘I think you’re forgetting your place, Mr Kooi. You should remember that—’
‘Call Dietrich. Now.’
Leeson scowled, but recognised that arguing further with Victor was not in his best interests. He placed his tumbler on the table and fished a phone from the inside pocket of his jacket. He thumbed a code to unlock it and made the call.
‘It’s ringing,’ Leeson said. ‘What do you want me to say?’
‘Hand me the phone when he answers.’
‘You need to explain yourself immediately or there will be—’
Victor leant across the table and tore the phone from Leeson’s grasp, and held it to his ear. Leeson’s eyes narrowed and his face reddened, equally furious and humiliated.
The dialling tone cut off and Dietrich said, ‘How’s your dinner?’
Victor didn’t reply. He waited. A car drove past on the street outside the restaurant.
He hung up and looked at the call log. There were no names, only numbers. ‘Which one is Coughlin’s?’
Leeson said nothing. He glared at Victor.
Victor stared at Leeson, eyes unblinking, every iota of his lethality succinctly expressed in the gaze. ‘His