A wary silence hung between the two men. Neither could have foreseen so bizarre a meeting. A bout of mutual shadowboxing began to exploit whatever advantages might be had. ‘Are you wired up, McCall?’ ‘No. Are you armed?’ ‘Yes, but don’t worry about it.’ ‘At least we know where we stand.’ ‘Or lie…’ McCall let this pass. He had a hundred questions but started with the most obvious. ‘What the hell’s happened to you?’ ‘Don’t they say no plan ever survives first contact with the enemy?’ ‘I’m fascinated by what the plan was and who the enemy is.’ ‘I’m damn sure you are.’ ‘For instance, I’m still trying to work out what role a Mrs Boland plays in your life.’ ‘There is no such person.’ ‘Really? So you’re not Terry Boland and your wife isn’t staying at the country club?’ ‘No and no.’ ‘But you are in a bind, aren’t you?’ ‘Are you volunteering to help me out of it?’ ‘You’ll be needing a magic carpet for that.’ ‘Know anyone who’s got one?’ ‘Oddly enough, yes.
