She nodded miserably.

'Good. This is the address of a place called the House of Freedom. It's a shelter for women who have been trafficked. That means forced to come here, forced to go with men. It's in Jumeirah, not far from here. I want you to go there. In a few days, the police will come to speak to you. It's nothing serious, they just want to check you really were trafficked. But don't tell them about me, OK? That's important. Say that you escaped from your owner. Say that you want to go home. They will help you.'

Lara looked at him in bleak desperation. 'Can't go home. My family will say I am bad girl, I am whore.'

'Here,' said Carver, pulling more notes from his wallet. 'That should help change their mind.'

Lara wiped the tears from her eyes and the snot from her nose. Then she asked the question that had been troubling her since they first met in the nightclub. 'Who are you? Why you do… all this?'

Carver smiled. 'I can't tell you what I do, or why,' he said. 'But my close friends call me Pablo. Why don't you do that?'

'Don't go, Pablo,' she said. 'Please…'

'I'm sorry, I've got work to do. But you can stay here for a while if you like. Have a shower. Get something to eat. Don't worry about the bill. But don't stay more than one hour. In sixty minutes, you go, OK?'

Lara nodded. 'One hour, maximum.'

'Good girl.'

He walked over to the door, half opened it, then paused. 'Goodbye, Lara,' he said. 'And good luck.'

Before she could say, 'Goodbye, Pablo,' he was gone. Over the next few hours, Tiger Dey was gripped by violent stomach pains. These were the first effects of ricin poisoning. The 1-milligram dose – several times the estimated minimum required to be fatal – had been concealed within a sugar-coated pellet less than two millimetres across, designed to melt at human body temperature. This, in turn, was secreted inside the maraschino cherry given to him by an assassin he knew as Carver.