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He let Franshesco Gutierrez come to him. His handshake was good and his smile appeared genuine on his dark face, but unlike Arthur, Drake would bet that the guy was a good enough actor to make any impression he chose. His suit had the perfect fit of custom-made and the watch was a very distinctive U-Boat, recognizable at ten paces away and worth over seven grand. He had the broad shoulders of a military man, but his walk said businessman with a passion for fitness. He was the sort of man who would pack a .44 Magnum long-barrel revolver because that’s what Clint Eastwood had carried as Dirty Harry, the renegade cop.
The man was as smooth as an upper-crust Boston banker and probably just as trustworthy.
“This is my assistant, Nikita.”
She offered him a tight nod, more of a twist of he
