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Englishman. Far from neutral, he had made it absolutely clear from the outset that he wanted Zurich to replace London as the centre from which to drive all the lucrative international assignments. The man would shortly be chairing the managing partners’ meeting, and Mitchell was due to present his preliminary recommendations.
    As if any of all this really mattered, in the order of things. Mitchell knew, however, he was now staring at a rambling four-hour committee meeting before he could pick up the phone to Tom Bates and start spinning his latest web. ‘Tell me what you need,’ he said.
    ‘ The bottom line is that we have to keep all that income and the ancillary work here. In London, where it’s always been done. Not Switzerland. Which of course is exactly what the Chairman wants,’ the managing partner continued, wringing his hands in agitation. He was not looking forward to the prospect of having to confront the tyrant himself.
    ‘ Oh, I think I’ll be able to manage the Chairman all right. Don’t you, chaps?’ Mitchell’s tombstone teeth showed themselves again, and suddenly no one in the room doubted for an instant that this disconcerting, strangely frightening man could handle just about anyone he wanted.
    *
    ‘I have the consignment.’
    Bolitho ’s voice was unmistakable, even over the bad line. James Barton was in his Hill Street, Mayfair office with Tom and the lawyers, working on the patents issue. Brusquely he told them all to leave as he took the highly sensitive call—something Tom always hated and resented. ‘Is it in good condition?’
    ‘ A l .’
    ‘ You’ve tested it? For quality?’ Barton could hear the tension in his own voice. So much depended on the Bolitho’s reply.
    ‘ The tests are good.’
    The relief was palpable at the other end of the phone. ‘You’re sure? Really sure?’
    ‘ Sure I’m sure. And now what? I go ahead and make the delivery as planned?’
    ‘ Yes. Leave now, as soon as you can. I’ll fly out there to see it in a few days.’
    ‘ Good.’ Bolitho allowed a pause before going on. ‘And the delivery guy. You want I pay him off, as agreed?’
    Barton closed his eyes. And his mind. ‘Exactly as agreed.’
    ‘ You got it, boss. See you in Belize. I’m out of here.’
    Hanging up, Bolitho sucked noisily on a can of beer and looked over to Banto, chained to the wall of the hangar. The tiny native’s head was slumped forward, and he was squatting on his haunches, seemingly asleep or in a kind of trance. Swaggering over, Bolitho kicked viciously at his feet, knocking Banto sideways. Still the native avoided looking at him.
    ‘ Hey! Ape man! You hear all of that? You’re going to be flying halfway around the world. You understand me?’ There was no response, so he lashed at him with his foot again. ‘You look at me, you piece of crap!’
    Eyes wide now, Banto finally looked up at his tormentor. Then he lifted his head further back and began chanting quietly his monotone sing - sing tribal call. The sound annoyed Bolitho even more, and he hit him hard across the mouth, drawing blood. ‘Shut the hell up!’ he screamed, his face inches from Banto’s. He was about to strike again, when the door opened and Chancey looked in.
    ‘ What’s happening? he demanded. ‘You should not beat the kanaka. ’ Despite everything, the native was still a brother of sorts, and the American a foreigner. There was no cause to abuse him.
    Bolitho stood up, forcing himself to relax. ‘Hey. You’re right, little kauboi .’ Banto had now stopped the chanting, and his hunter’s eyes were watching the two men intently, reading the situation as clearly as a Westerner could read a book. ‘Get over here. I’ve got your money. Take it. Then we can have a few beers, and go and beat up on that white tail I promised.’
    Chancey grinned and walked across. He had changed into his party clothes: clean denims, red jacket and loud Hawaiian shirt. ‘Yeah. Bias . Then we pati