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he just needs to get away. He goes to the beach, to Sharm el-Sheikh to dive, or else to Africa . . . Mombasa maybe. Places where he can relax and nobody knows him. But he always leaves word, or gets in touch.’ Gaber held Makana’s gaze. ‘It’s never been this long with no contact.’
    ‘That still doesn’t explain the delay.’ Makana openly studied the coarse features of the powerful man sitting behind the desk. ‘Did something happen? An argument . . . a disagreement about money?’
    ‘No, nothing like that,’ growled Hanafi.
    ‘Okay, then why don’t you tell me why you think he disappeared?’
    ‘I don’t know.’
    Makana got slowly to his feet. The two men stared at him.
    ‘I’m not sure I’m the right man for this job.’
    ‘Sit down!’ growled Hanafi. ‘Don’t you know who I am?’
    ‘Me and about seventy million people outside that window.’
    ‘You should think very carefully before you turn me down.’
    ‘Is that a threat?’
    Behind him Gaber said quietly, ‘I wouldn’t have thought a man in your position could afford to turn down an offer such as this.’
    Makana turned to look at him. He hadn’t thought it possible to like this man any less, but he realised now that he had been wrong. This whole set-up didn’t ring true. All his instincts told him just to walk away, but instead he said, ‘I can’t help you if you are not going to tell me everything.’
    Hanafi chewed his lip for a moment and then relented, waving Makana back down into his chair.
    ‘Okay, all right. Maalish . Sit down.’ He took a deep breath. ‘We argued.’
    Makana sat down again. ‘What about?’
    ‘It’s stupid . . . it really makes no sense at all.’ Hanafi examined his outspread hands. ‘We argued about my health.’
    ‘Your health?’
    ‘The boy worries about me . . . about my health. Adil felt I should be taking it easy, not working so hard. The fact is that I hardly do any work nowadays. Gaber takes care of most personal things for me, and the company runs itself. Adil wanted me to take a holiday, go away on safari to Kenya, you know? Hunting animals. Me!’ Hanafi laughed, suddenly a sentimental old man. ‘I never took a holiday in my life. I wouldn’t know myself, shooting animals and chasing whores . . .’ He shrugged. ‘Anyway, that was it. We argued. He went home and the next day he was gone. I haven’t seen or heard from him since. It was my fault, I know that. I am used to people always doing what I tell them.’
    Humility was the last thing Makana had been expecting from this man.
    ‘I understand your need to keep this quiet, but why don’t you just call one of your friends in the police? You must have enough of them in your pocket, people who can be discreet.’
    Hanafi gave Makana a beady look. Then he got to his feet and paced over to the open doors, looking out at his little practice range, his terrace, and the city beyond – a good chunk of which was also his. A lot of people worked their whole lives and died without ever having a view like that, but perhaps from where Hanafi was standing it looked less like heaven and more like a prison.
    ‘You would be surprised how few people I can trust, Mr Makana.’
    There followed a long silence. Makana glanced at Gaber, who appeared to be waiting for his boss to carry on.
    ‘Adil was just a boy when I found him. I don’t know what it was about him . . .’ The broad face split into something resembling a smile. ‘He made me laugh. Just like that. A little boy. He reminded me so much of myself. He wasn’t afraid of anything. A natural talent. Wild. The word “discipline” was lost on him. My mind told me he would be trouble, but my heart told me otherwise. I have always acted on instinct and I was not wrong in Adil’s case. He has turned out to be the star of our team.’
    The way he spoke, it sounded as if Hanafi was talking about a favourite son. Gaber shifted his feet before breaking into the conversation.
    ‘The Hanafi