“Sorry to pull you away from your regular duties.”

Frank sniffs. “Diplomacy’s boring. I’m looking forward to running with the Troops again.”

“As long as you realize it’s a temporary measure. As soon as I find a fit replacement, you’re out of here.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you wanted to get rid of me,” Frank laughs, then draws his gun, checks with his men — all armed with rifles — and leads us through the backyard, past a posse of Troops who look away and wait for this latest power game to reach its inevitable conclusion.

Gico’s guards don’t intervene when they spot us. The men we draft into the Troops are smart enough to know which way the wind blows. Besides, most were blooded by Frank, so even if they were prepared to take a shot at me, they wouldn’t dare raise a hand against their old taskmaster.

In the past you had to check in your shoes at reception. The floors of Party Central are lined with some of the finest carpets you’ll find this side of Arabia. Dorak was obsessive about them. I don’t share his love, so we march to the room marked BASE in our shoes and boots, sparing not a thought for the priceless floor covering.

Mags is on duty. She’s another of Dorak’s finds. Best secretary bar none. I’d be lost without her. She looks up and smiles as we enter. I’ve never explained the truth about myself to Mags, but she’s seen enough to guess. “Glad to have you back, sir,” she greets me. “I’ve got lots of forms that need signing when you’re through with Mr. Carl and his associates.”

“Why didn’t you get Gico to sign them while he was acting CEO?”

“I had a feeling he wouldn’t be acting for long,” she replies. Then she asks cheekily, “Shall I check to see if he’s receiving visitors?”

“I’m sure he’ll make time for us.”

Breezing in without knocking, I find Gico, Cathal and two of their allies examining a map on the table that dominates the room. Four burly Troops are positioned by the windows. They raise their weapons when they see me, then lower them when Frank snaps his fingers.