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go with it. There’s no legend so you can wing it, whatever you feel comfortable with. The brothers will know you’re Knight and that you’re using fake ID. Keep the Knight credit cards and use them in Pattaya.’ She hefted the envelope. ‘There’s cash as well. Five thousand pounds. I’ll arrange to send you more by Western Union if you need it and I’ll see about setting up a bank account for you.’
    Shepherd smiled. ‘So I’m Dan Shepherd pretending to be Ricky Knight pretending to be John Westlake? It’s a wonder I’m not schizophrenic.’
    Button pointed at the steel Cartier watch he was wearing. ‘I’ll need that back,’ she said.
    Shepherd held out his arm. ‘It’s a perfectly okay watch for a villain.’
    Button reached into her briefcase again and took out a gold one. ‘The Moores are watch fanatics,’ she said. ‘This’ll give you something to talk about.’
    Shepherd took off the Cartier and put it on the table, then slipped on the other and clicked the strap shut.
    ‘It’s a Breitling Emergency,’ said Button. ‘It cost ten thousand pounds, so do, please, take care of it.’
    It had a rotating bezel marked in degrees, analogue hands and two small digital screens, one in the top half of the face and the other lower down. Below the face there was a cylinder almost an inch long with a screw at the end. ‘I’ve heard about these,’ said Shepherd. ‘It’s got a transmitter inside, right, and if I unscrew it, it broadcasts on the aircraft emergency frequency?’
    ‘Exactly,’ said Button. ‘In theory every aircraft within a hundred miles will triangulate your position and the coastguard will send a helicopter to pick you up.’
    ‘Nice bit of kit.’
    ‘And we’ll be wanting it back when the job’s over,’ said Button, putting the Cartier into her briefcase. She took out an envelope and poured the contents into his hand – a sovereign ring, a gold money clip and a thick gold chain bracelet. ‘The Moores are a bit flash with their jewellery, so this will help you blend,’ she said. ‘You can stick with the Ricky Knight clothing and personal effects you’ve already got.’
    ‘I don’t need anything for the Westlake legend?’
    ‘Just the passport. We want the Moores to see through it straight away.’ She glanced at her own watch, a slim gold Chopard. ‘I’ve booked you a briefing with an intelligence officer at Scotland Yard,’ she said. ‘You should take Razor with you. You’ll be told who you might run into while you’re in Pattaya. Do you want to give Razor the good news or shall I?’
    Shepherd grinned. ‘Let me.’
    Jimmy Sharpe cursed and sounded his horn at the bus that had just pulled out without indicating. ‘Thailand?’ he said. They were in Sharpe’s own car, a year-old Lexus he’d bought at a bargain price from a Customs and Excise auction. It had been used to bring forty kilos of cocaine on the ferry from Calais and, other than a bit of damage to the rear seats, it was in near-new condition.
    Shepherd checked that his seatbelt was fastened. ‘She wanted me to go solo but I said I needed back-up.’
    ‘Business class?’
    ‘Hell, Razor, I don’t know.’
    ‘I can’t sit for twelve hours in economy. What’s the job?’ He jammed on his brakes as the traffic-lights ahead turned red.
    ‘A team of blaggers holing up there. They pop back now and again to replenish their coffers.’
    ‘Land of Smiles,’ said Sharpe. ‘That’s what they call Thailand. Maybe it’ll put a smile on your face. When was the last time you got laid?’
    ‘None of your bloody business,’ said Shepherd. Actually, he knew pretty much to the day when he’d last had sex. It had been with a woman in Belfast whom he’d suspected was a serial killer, and the relationship had been doomed from the start. Before that, his last experience had been with a South African contractor in Baghdad and it had been very much a one-night stand. Carol Bosch had made no attempt to contact