'Today's Wednesday, Tomboy.'

'I know that,' he answered, running his fingers through what was left of his hair. 'But you know what they say. Time waits for no man.'

'What's he done, this Warren?'

'No one's saying anything at the moment, it's all very hush-hush. But he's running away from something – something serious. Just like you. Except this time, someone wants to kill him for it. He ain't going to be whiter than white, put it like that.'

'How much are they offering for the job?'

'Thirty thousand US. A lot of money.'

He was right, it was. Particularly here in the Philippines. The business we ran – a small hotel with dive operation attached – didn't take much more than that in a year, and thanks to Al Qaeda's continued efforts to mangle Western tourism in the Far East, things weren't likely to improve much in the year ahead. By the time we'd paid the staff, the local authorities and covered our running costs, we cleared maybe a third of that in profit. Paradise is nice, but it rarely makes you rich.

I took a sip from my beer. 'Someone must want him dead very badly.'

He nodded and pulled a soft-top pack of Marlboro Lights from his pocket, lighting one. 'They do. Not only that, they want him to disappear. No trace.'

'That's not going to be very easy in Manila.'

'It ain't going to be in Manila. As soon as he arrives, he's getting a cab down to Batangas, and a boat across to Puerta Galera.' Puerta Galera was the nearest main town to us and Mindoro Island's main port. 'He's got a room booked at the Hotel California on East Brucal Street. It's already been paid for. He's been told that you're going to meet him there to give him instructions and a briefcase full of money. What you need to do is get him out of the room and take him for a drive. One that he don't come back from.'