"Just acting," said Hamish. His eyes scanned the room. He could see no sign of either Bob or Angus. His heart began to sink. He had caused this highly expensive operation on the word of a couple of layabouts who probably did not know anyone in the drug trade.

Ten minutes passed. "If they were serious," said Kevin, "they'd have been here on time."

"I knew there was something stupid about this whole thing," said Olivia, not bothering to lower her voice.

Hamish scanned the room. The music thudded, the strobe lights flashed, couples gyrated round each other as if performing some ritual tribal dance.

And then he glimpsed Bob. He appeared to be searching.

It was then that Hamish realised that despite his red hair, Bob probably wouldn't recognise him in his Armani suit, camel coat draped about his shoulders and wraparound sunglasses.

Hamish said to Barry and Kevin, "There's a fat, little fellow looking for me. I'll try to point him out to you and then I think you should both fetch him over."

His eyes raked over the dancers. "There!" he said. "Chust to the left. The one with the snake tattooed around his arm."

Kevin and Barry moved forward. Hamish saw them speaking to Bob. As Bob was led forward, he did not look nearly so pugnacious. He gave Hamish a sort of smirk. "Didnae recognise you," he said.

"Am I wasting my time?" asked Hamish.

"No, no," grovelled Bob, although his eyes devoured Olivias cleavage. "I'll be right back."

He disappeared into the swirl of dancers. "Things are moving," hissed Olivia.

After a few minutes, a tall, thin lugubrious man like an undertaker materialised in front of them. He was even wearing a black suit and black tie.

"Come with me," he said.

They followed him to a door next to the far end of the bar. He opened the door and ushered them into an office. "Just call me Lachie," said the man behind the desk, getting to his feet. He was middle-aged, going thin on top, fat creased babyish face, little rosebud mouth, expensively cut dark suit but worn over a shirt embroidered with silver bells. No tie.

Behind him stood two goons, a sort of mirror image of Kevin and Barry.

A small dapper man with a lot of gold jewellery lounged in an armchair in a shadowy corner of the room.

Hamish suddenly sensed Olivias acute nervousness and wondered why. Olivia, unknown to Hamish, had recognised the man in the corner of the room as Jimmy White from Glasgow. She was beginning to fear Hamish would not be able to pull off this scam.

"Sit down," said Lachie expansively. "Drink?"

"No," said Hamish, swinging his coat off his shoulders and handing it to Kevin. "You've kept me waiting and I want to get down to business."

"That idiot Bob spent too long looking for you," said Lachie. "You could have chosen a brighter contact. Who put you onto Bob?"

Hamish sat down and leaned back in his chair. "Mind your own business," he said insolently.

"So what's your business?" demanded Lachie. "Interested in buying?"

"No, I only said that for the sake of the idiot Bob. I'm selling."

"Oh, aye. Selling what?"

"Shipment of heroin."

"How much?"

"Four kilos for starters."

"Four… where have you got this stuff?"

The little man in the corner spoke for the first time. "I think you should all get out o' here and let me have a word wi…?"

"George. Hamish George."

"We stay," said Kevin.

Lachie looked at Jimmy. The two goons behind him crowded in closer to the desk.

"Why not?" said Hamish easily. "Look after my beautiful wife."

Kevin and Barry instinctively looked to Olivia for guidance. She stood up, draping her cashmere stole over her arm. "Oh, come along. I need a drink," she pouted. She leaned over Hamish and kissed him full on the mouth, and then said, "It's Jimmy White," in a breath of a voice.

They all went out and Jimmy White moved round and sat behind the desk.

Apart from his gold identity bracelet, gold watch and thick gold chain around his neck, Jimmy White could pass for an ordinary Scottish businessman, thought Hamish, if it were not for the stone-hard look of his small black eyes.

"I'm Jimmy White," he said. "This is all a bit sudden, as the actress said to the bishop. Nobody's ever heard of you and you stroll in here with this damn offer."

"I work out of Istanbul," said Hamish. He suddenly remembered a name he had heard when one of his investigations had taken him to London and he had overheard some detectives in Scotland Yard gossiping. "Heard of Cherokee Jim?"

"Aye. But he's cocaine."

"And I'm heroin. This is beginning to sound a bit like 'me Tarzan, you Jane.' Are you interested or not?"

"Maybe. Why come up here?"

"Because I was born here. I need someplace safe to land the stuff. I haven't been back here since I was a boy so I don't know the places that will escape the investigations of Customs and Excise."

"How did you get started?"

Hamish stared at him for a long moment. "I don't see why the fuck I should waste time answering stupid questions about my background." Hamish, who hardly ever swore, hoped he wasn't blushing. "You either want the stuff or you don't."

"Oh, I want it. Those bastards in Glasgow seized a haul. Look, mac, how can I trust you?"

"You can't. You have to take my word for it, tell me where to land it, come with me, bring as much muscle as you like." Hamish stifled a yawn.

"You're a cool bugger. When Lachie told me that idiot Bob had been blabbing to someone he knew nothing about, I could have killed him. But I'll tell you one thing you're not. You're not an undercover cop. When I heard from Lachie, I was sure you were."

"And what would you have done? Killed me?"

"You know we don't go around killing coppers unless they're bent," sneered Jimmy. "The minute I clapped eyes on you and that wife of yours, I knew I was looking at one of my own kind. You know what's kept me on top? Brains."

"Well, we can sit here all night talking about your brilliance," said Hamish, "or we can get down to business. Do we have a deal?"

"Yes, but you'll need to wait a week. How much are you asking?"

"Twenty thousand a kilo."

"Right. Where are you staying?"

"The Grand. Why a week?"

"I'll need to discuss this with my associates. You know how it is."

"Okay. But don't make it any longer."

"It's funny, mind," said Jimmy, "that I haven't heard of you."

"I usually keep in the background. Only fools get themselves too well known."

"Right. What about some dinner?"

"Had it, thanks," said Hamish, who had no wish to prolong the agony of his act a moment longer than necessary.

"When I get back, then. Your wife's a real smasher. Funny, I've got a feeling I've seen her somewhere before. Was she on the films?"

"She doesn't do that anymore and she knows I'd cut her face if she did," said Hamish harshly.

"Oh, those sort of films."

"Aye, but we will not be talking about that."

"Sure, sure."

Hamish stood up and slung his coat around his shoulders. He put on his dark glasses.

"See you," he said laconically, and strolled out, resisting a strong impulse to run.

A flicker of relief darted through Olivia's eyes when she saw him.

Hamish put an arm around her shoulders. "Come on, babe, let's get out of here."

Back in the hotel room, Hamish told them about how he had got on. He finished by saying, "He thought he had seen you somewhere before, Olivia. Is that possible?"

"When I was made chief inspector," said Olivia, "my photo was in the Glasgow papers."

"You should have told me that," said Hamish impatiently. "Anyway, I managed to convince him that he had seen you in a blue movie."

Kevin gave a great laugh. "The first time I heard of anyone looking at their faces."