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long time,’ said Gaber.
    ‘He must be a difficult man to work for.’
    ‘Mr Hanafi has his own particularities but he is a fair man, as I am sure you will discover.’
    This lift was smaller than the one they had come up in but the doors opened to reveal a space big enough to park a small car in. He looked at Gaber steadily.
    ‘That is a very generous offer, of course, but I’m going to need a little money for expenses to start with.’
    Without blinking an eye, Gaber reached into his jacket pocket and produced another, smaller envelope. Makana peered inside to find a thick bundle of banknotes.
    ‘When that is finished, come back to me.’ He held out his hand to shake Makana’s. ‘We are counting on you to resolve this issue as quickly as possible. This matter is weighing heavily on Mr Hanafi’s health. Every day counts.’
    The lift whisked Makana down to the ground floor, smoothly and swiftly. He felt something like disappointment when the doors opened and he found himself in a lobby with a security guard in uniform, a tall man with a belly which betrayed his fondness for eating.
    ‘Tell me,’ Makana said as the guard walked him to the door, ‘how much does an apartment in this place cost?’
    The guard eyed him warily. ‘I don’t think you want to know the answer to that, sir.’
    ‘No.’ Makana nodded. ‘On second thoughts, maybe I don’t.’
    As he came out into the street he bumped into someone hurrying along the pavement: a young man wearing spectacles. He pulled up abruptly and stared at Makana intently for a long moment before finally muttering an apology and moving on. People even look at you differently when you come out of a place like that, thought Makana. The street seemed hotter, more noisy and dusty than he remembered. It made everything he had just seen feel all the more unreal, as if he had dreamed the whole episode.
    It took him a dozen steps before he remembered that he could now afford a taxi, so he stepped over to the roadside and waved. As he climbed into the rickety car, that moment when Hanafi had grasped his hand and held it tightly came back to him. He knew now what he had seen in the tycoon’s face: fear.

Chapter Three
    Despite the sudden improvement in his fortunes, Makana still had a few lingering doubts about working for such an illustrious client. He knew of Hanafi’s reputation and was in no doubt that the great man could be ruthless and dangerous. On the other hand, it didn’t seem that he himself had much choice but to take the case. Besides that, Makana was intrigued by the fact that they should ask him to find Adil Romario. Hanafi’s response to that question had not been satisfactory. Undoubtedly, he had enemies and would not be keen on exposing any sign of vulnerability, but still a man like that had not survived for so long by bowing to his fears. It was also difficult to imagine anyone mad enough to try and make an enemy of him, particularly now that he was such a public figure. He had the ear of politicians. It was said that even the Pharaoh himself, as the President was often referred to, consulted him on matters of state. Flattering though it was to think that his reputation as a man of integrity might have spread to such lofty heights, Makana was inclined to believe there was more to it than that. Hanafi was afraid of something, something so big and dark that he couldn’t trust any of his usual contacts inside the police.
    Makana stopped off at a place he sometimes used in Ezbekia Square. To all appearances it was simply a tiny booth under the flyover, run by a one-eyed man and his numerous family. It was open twenty-four hours a day and was no wider than a doorway. Someone was always there. On the shelves that extended themselves deep into the bowels of the crumbling building, however, there was everything you could possibly need, from candles to matches and batteries, to light bulbs and hosepipes, electric cables and plungers for blocked drains. There was