Chapter 11AT FIVE MINUTES to six that evening, a sharp knock on his door interrupted Florian Declercq as he shaved. A few strokes of the blade later, a towel over his shoulder, he answered the door. The man handed him an envelope and stood in the doorway. Declercq asked him to wait and took a bill from his wallet.
“Mr. Declercq, read the note. I'm not a messenger.”
Not amused at receiving orders from a stranger, Declercq opened the envelope and removed the sheet of paper. “So where are we going?”
“Sir, the meeting room has proved inadequate. A car is waiting for you. Please finish dressing. We're on a schedule.” The man stepped into the room and shut the door.
“If you'll excuse me, I need to make a call.”
The man shook his head. “Sorry, sir. That won't be possible. Precautions have be
