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while traffic thundered overhead across the high Romanesque spans of the Viaduc and the Pont Adolphe. Which was where, on a wet evening in early September, two men walked and argued.
    One was a tall man, in a long black coat and a black homburg hat that, even in Luxembourg, was at least forty years out of date. It cast a deep shadow over his face. The other was shorter and rounder, in a shapeless blue mackintosh that did nothing for his figure. He had no hat, and had forgotten his umbrella. The rain slicked his hair against his scalp and ran down the side of his nose like sweat.
    ‘Why did you change the meeting?’ the tall man asked.
    Lemmy Maartens wiped water from his eyes. He was trembling.
    ‘I thought I was being followed.’
    The tall man glanced up and down the long pavement. Theywere walking with the flow of traffic, so that the headlights of the passing cars only shone on their backs. A hundred metres back a man was straggling behind them, his face hunched over a sodden map. He wore a white plastic poncho, the sort that tourists buy if they get caught out by the weather. It made him look like a ghost. About twenty metres ahead, a homeless man sat on a piece of cardboard wrapped in a blanket. Otherwise, the bridge was empty.
    Lemmy gestured to the man with the map. ‘Do you think he’s watching us?’
    ‘Don’t worry about him.’ The tall man quickened his pace. Lemmy glanced over his shoulder again, almost as if he was expecting someone.
    ‘What did you find?’
    The question was urgent, verging on desperate. Lemmy, a keen student of human weakness, saw his opportunity.
    ‘The money first.’
    The tall man didn’t try to argue. He pulled a packet from inside his coat and passed it to Lemmy. A brown envelope –
Jesus
, Lemmy thought, these people had no imagination. He rubbed it between finger and thumb, feeling the thickness of the wad inside.
    As a rule, Lemmy preferred electronic transfers. With the Internet, he could conjure money in and out of sight in seconds. Cash was more substantial. But for this amount, it was worth the effort.
    They’d come to within a couple of metres of the homeless man. Lemmy stopped and tore open the envelope. If he felt any shame counting so much money in front of a man whose entire wealth sat in a Styrofoam cup by his feet, he didn’t show it.
    ‘It’s all there,’ his companion said. ‘Keep moving.’ Heglanced back. A hundred metres behind, the figure in the white poncho had stopped to study his map under a streetlight.
    ‘You didn’t have to risk your career going into that place,’ Lemmy grumbled.
    A black minivan with a taxi-company number on the side drew up and stopped on the kerb.
    ‘You look wet,’ the driver shouted through the open passenger window. ‘You need a ride somewhere?’
    ‘We’re fine,’ said the man in the hat.
    But he wasn’t. In the second he was distracted, the van’s rear door slid open. Three men in black sweatshirts and black jeans leaped out, straight for him, while a fourth stayed inside and held a gun.
    The tall man saw them and acted instantly. He didn’t think of trying to fight: he ran straight to the rail and tried to heave himself over the edge. But this had been predicted. Before the man could get over the rail, the tramp had sprung up and wrapped himself around his legs. He clung on; the man kicked and flailed, but it was too late. The men from the van piled in and pulled him down. One took a needle and jabbed it into the side of his neck. He slumped and lay still.
    Two of the men carried their victim into the van. Through the open door, Lemmy saw a pair of slim, feminine legs and bright red shoes sitting on the back seat.
    The third man picked up the homburg hat off the pavement and tossed it into the car. Then, for the first time, he looked at Lemmy.
    ‘Well done,’ he said.
    Lemmy stared at him in utter terror. He had a terrifying face, broken in so many places, with a tattoo curling up the back of his neck. A