Mackenzie.
'And are there more like him?' he asked.
'Enough, if you know where to look. Some sectors, the economy is hammering along. That's why the Arabs are buying everything up.
Property, land, business, franchises, you name it. France and Germany are dead in the water. Here? Fucking El Dorado.'
'What else do they buy?'
'Not with you, mate.'
'What else do you help them with? Bricks and mortar, great. The odd business, no problem. But you've got to have a laugh from time to time … or am I missing something here?'
'Girlies, you mean?'
'Sure… and everything that goes with them.'
Faraday still had his eye on the two men in the window. It was hard to be sure at this distance but he sensed an over-reluctance on Wallace's part to be tempted down the path that Mackenzie was trying to flag. In this curious charade it was important not to be hasty but Wallace was taking coyness just a bit too far.
Mackenzie had evidently decided to dispense with the foreplay. Time was moving on.
'Something tells me you're full of shit, mate,' he said amiably.
'Yeah? How's that?'
'The bloke in Gloucestershire for starters. That's all bollocks. And I should know because I phoned him.'
'You did?'
'Yeah. And he's barely heard of you. Couple of calls the back end of last year, you fishing for work… Told you to fuck off, didn't he?'
'Not exactly.'
'Yeah, all but though.' Faraday saw the smaller of the figures in the window leaning forward over the table. 'So what do you do?'
Faraday heard the muffled sound of someone laughing. Wallace or Mackenzie? He didn't know.
'You're not the Old Bill, are you?' Wallace enquired at last. 'Only I've been had this way before.'
There was a long silence. Willard was grinning now and even Faraday managed a smile. Masterstroke, he thought, the perfect double bluff.
Then came the laughter again, louder this time. Mackenzie.
'No, I'm not the Old Bill. Though you can never be sure, can you?
Clever bastards sometimes.'
'Too right.'
'You're not convinced, are you?'
'I'm thinking about it.'
'You wanna bin the meal? Call it quits? Only ' 'No. It's a long way to drive for a glass of fizzy water and a wind-up.'
'Who says it's a wind-up? You know why I've asked you down, Gray. We talked about it on the phone. Me? I'm just a nosey mush who's wondering what it might take to sort that fucking fort out there.'
'You want a clear run.'
'You got it.'
'And you think I'm complicating things.'
'I think two things, my friend. Number one, I think you're bidding a silly price. And number two, if you're bidding a silly price, that must mean you've got money to burn. Does it come from all those shopping developments? All those Tudor manor houses? Does it bollocks. Something tells me it's much simpler. Them Arabs practically live on cocaine. As I'm sure you've sussed.'
'Cocaine?' Wallace sounded as if he was barely familiar with the word.
'You really think…?'
'Yeah, I really do. And Graham, nice bloke though you are, that could be a problem.'
'Why?'
'Because When Mackenzie broke off, Faraday heard Willard softly cursing. His eyes were better than Faraday's.
'Bloody waiter,' he muttered. 'Would you believe it?'
Mackenzie wanted steak and kidney pudding. Wallace settled for tiger prawns a la Creole. Willard could barely contain himself. This is developing into a radio soap, Faraday thought, one cliffhanger after the next.
Wallace, subtle as ever, had changed the subject. He wanted to know what Mackenzie was going to do with the fort.
'Why?'
'Because it might make a difference.'
'A difference how?'
'Dunno.' Faraday could visualise Wallace's shrug. 'Maybe we could cut some kind of deal, share costs and profits. That way we'd limit each other's exposure.' He paused. 'Casino, isn't it?'
'Who told you that?'
'Gisela Mendel.'
'What else did she tell you?'
'She told me you were the most un-English bloke she'd ever met.'
'How's that, then?'
'She told me you made her laugh a lot. She also said you spoke your mind. Play your cards right, I got the definite impression…'
Faraday stole a look at Willard. He wasn't impressed.
'You've met her at all? Face to face?' It was Mackenzie.
'Yeah.'
'She's a looker, isn't she? Plus she's not stupid.'
'How do you mean?'
'There's plenty she's not telling us, you feel it from the start. Know what I mean?'
'Sure.' Wallace was on the same wavelength. 'Bit like this.'
The comment seemed to surprise even Mackenzie. Faraday's admiration for Wallace's nerve was boundless.
'Yeah,' Mackenzie admitted. 'Bit like this.'
Someone else approached the table, an old mate of Mackenzie's. While the two of them bantered about yesterday's game at Preston, Faraday was watching a big black Toyota SUV. It had cruised past twice now, once one way, once the other. Two men inside, both wearing baseball caps.
'Get on with it.' Listening to the wire, Willard was getting impatient.
At last, Mackenzie's mate departed. Wallace enquired about Pompey prospects if they made it to the Premiership and for a moment Faraday sensed that the heat had gone out of the conversation. Then Mackenzie stoked the fire again.
'This hotel of yours,' he said. 'Helicopter pad. Transfers down from Heathrow. Casino. High rollers. Something tells me you're washing dirty money.'
'Shit.' It was Wallace's turn to laugh. 'I thought for a moment you were going to accuse me of ripping off your own idea.'
'Maybe I am.'
'Same idea? Too much dosh? High-class laundry?'
There came a silence. Very suddenly, no warning, they'd arrived at the crunch. Waiting for an answer from Mackenzie, Willard's knuckles had tightened on the steering wheel. A yes would be a giant step towards court. At length, Faraday caught a low chuckle from Mackenzie.
'No,' he said softly. 'I meant the chopper pad. It's a neat idea. I might get my guys to scope it out. You up for wine, mate, or are we sticking on the fizzy water?'
Wallace settled for a bottle of Sancerre. When he offered to split the tab, Mackenzie told him to forget it.
