The walk to Raven’s flat was deliberately slow. He stopped at a shop and bought a bunch of blue flowers, and saw a selection of Turkish delight in a deli service area. He bought a cardboard tray of the white-dusted sweet, paler in colour than the European version, then continued on to the flat along streets lively with cafes and restaurants.
The building was a three-storey apartment block with two units on each level. Raven was on the first floor.
At exactly 6 p.m. he pressed the security buzzer.
‘Hi, Sébastien,’ came Raven’s voice. ‘I’m up the stairs, in number four.’
There was a buzz and the sound of a bolt sliding and de Payns pushed through the door. He’d managed to turn his nerves into excitement, and he felt pretty good as he bounded up the stairs. Before he knocked on the door of number four, he checked his palms—they were dry, a good sign.
Raven opened the door and greeted him with a kiss on each cheek. He was glad of his dry palms because she was wearing a sleeveless purple chiffon top, and he touched her briefly on the bicep.
‘Ooh, for me?’ She smiled as he presented the flowers and the cardboard box.
‘I hope you like Turkish delight,’ he said.
‘I love it,’ she replied, walking to her kitchen, from which a delicious smell was emanating. ‘And by the way, it’s not Turkish, it’s Persian.’
It was a clean and tidy two-bedroom flat, about twenty years old. There was no sign of her kids, nor of a husband, which made him think that this was one of those gifts that Middle Eastern fathers give to their daughters, so they have some independence and their own asset. A bolthole for Muslim girls.
She emerged with a bottle of riesling, fresh from the fridge.
‘I thought there was no drinking in Pakistan,’ said de Payns.
‘You mean like there’s no pot-smoking in Belgium?’
She poured and he took a glass.
‘So, what have you told your brother about me?’ asked de Payns. ‘Anything I should know?’
‘I just told him the industry you’re in and what I’m doing for you. He was happy for you to join us for dinner.’
They drank and Raven asked him about his sightseeing. He also told her about his clients in New Delhi and the hassle of trying to remember all the languages that were spoken in this part of the world. She suddenly remembered the flowers, and walked into the kitchen to get a vase. He followed her and saw the rear exit that Templar had briefed him on. The kitchens of these apartments had a door leading onto fire escape gantries and stairs. He looked down and saw that the fire stairs dropped into a concrete car park, just as the team had briefed him.
Raven placed the flowers in a vase, opened the oven and stirred the contents of a ceramic pot.
There was a movement below, and de Payns looked down and saw a black LandCruiser with large aerials pull into the parking area. Two heavies in outdoor leisurewear emerged from the vehicle, leaving the driver in his seat. The larger of the two heavies wore a black windbreaker and slate-coloured hiking pants, and his 9mm handgun was evident on his hip. He looked up and straight at de Payns.
De Payns attempted a smile. ‘I think your brother’s arrived,’ he said, a voice in the back of his head asking, What the fuck am I doing here?
Raven joined him at the window and rolled her eyes. ‘He’s such a drama queen.’
They returned to the living room and de Payns peered over the windowsill. On the street, there was another black LandCruiser and the black S-Class Mercedes that he’d got to know pretty well. Men who looked similar to the ones out the back walked routes up and down the street, talking into their lapels.
The buzzer sounded in the flat and it gave de Payns a start.
‘Ha ha, it got you too!’ said Raven, pressing on the door release. ‘That ringer is heart-attack material.’
A few seconds later there was a knock at the door and Raven opened it. The doorway was filled with a male shape that instantly reminded de Payns of Templar—large but athletic; trained and dangerous. The heavy walked into the room, leaving a small figure standing just outside the doorway—Dr Death, codename Timberwolf.
The scientist was as small-featured and bespectacled as any stereotypical professor. He wore a brown sports coat, khaki slacks and a mustard-coloured cardigan under the jacket, confirming that scientists had the same sartorial elegance wherever they lived. The first bodyguard walked past de Payns and did a check of the flat while Timberwolf stood beside a second bodyguard. The bodyguard at the door stared at de Payns while the first guy made a commotion opening wardrobes and pulling back the shower curtain.
‘We just have to wait,’ Raven said to him apologetically. ‘Sorry, I forgot to tell you.’
‘At least I didn’t bring that whisky,’ said de Payns, aiming for a joke. He smiled at Timberwolf, but the scientist showed no sign of having heard. The minder at the door simply glared.
The fire stairs banged and clattered, as one of the people from the car park checked the back exits, and they could hear the first bodyguard talking loudly somewhere in the flat, meaning he was probably communicating with the guy on the fire stairs. De Payns couldn’t pick it, but it would be something like clear or, Check out this French pansy—let’s put a hood on him right now.
When the minder came back from searching the flat, he motioned for Timberwolf to enter and touched de Payns on the arm, asking him to follow. They stood in the spare room—with one single bed and some storage boxes—and the minder searched him thoroughly, looking for weapons and electronic devices. He found the Nokia and, having looked at it, asked de Payns in halting French, ‘You need this for to eat the meal?’
De Payns shook his head, and the minder broke down the phone very expertly and handed de Payns the pieces.
When they returned to the living room the second minder left to stand in the hallway, and the bodyguard who had searched de Payns stood post at the door. De Payns turned to Timberwolf and greeted him with his best smile. But the scientist offered only a reluctant handshake and a glowering face. ‘So,’ he said, dark-eyed and humourless, ‘you are the Frenchman.’