'Listen, I don't mind how we do it,' I told him. 'My job's to give you the case I'm carrying and provide you with a few instructions to help you on your way. You can just come out and grab it if you want. It makes no difference. I just fancied a drink, that's all.'

'Has it got aircon, this place? I'm not going anywhere without aircon. Not in this heat.'

'Of course it has,' I lied. 'And it's got nice views, too. You'll like it.'

'We'll see,' he said enigmatically and hung up.

This guy fancied himself, no question; and he wanted me to know he was no fool. I've met plenty of men like him before. Men who are sure they know the score on everything; who are streetwise enough that they can smell trouble a mile off. But everyone's got a weakness. It's just a matter of knowing where to look.

Five minutes passed, and I was just about to phone the cheeky sod again to see what the hell he was playing at when he emerged from the hotel entrance, dressed in a white, short-sleeved cotton shirt and jeans. He made his way straight to the car without looking around, which meant that he'd been watching it from his hotel room. Fair enough. I'd have done the same in his position.

He was medium height, early forties, with short dark hair and a thick moustache that followed the curves of his mouth and didn't look right on him at all. He had a muscular build that suggested he worked out regularly, and his face was fairly nondescript in so far as nothing actually stood out, except perhaps that it belonged to a man who knew how to handle himself.