Having consulted a street directory and memorised his route, Mac makes his way to the restaurant. During the day he has done a lot of thinking - debating whether to stay and keep the appointment or head back home on the first train. His head tells him that the latter is the correct action. Klugman is an unknown quantity and Mac is not sure his offer is to be trusted. On the other hand he really has nothing to go home for and there just might be something in Klugman's hint of a job offer. After swithering from one to the other for some time, he eventually decides to stay. He is used to assessing people quickly and there is something about Klugman he, well, not trusts exactly, Mac trusts no-one, but responds to. But it is the generosity of his bonus that swings it. He is definitely feeling the pinch and money like Klugman seems to throw around can't be ignored.
He spends the rest of the day collecting his bag, finding a hotel, shopping for some new clothes - somehow he feels his slightly rumpled business suit will not be suitable for the sort of establishment Klugman will patronise - and strolling in the sunshine.
Precisely at ten past eight he enters the restaurant. The maitre'd descends on him and takes in his appearance from the tips of his shoes to the crown of his head in a single sweeping glance and tilts his head back to look down his nose - no mean feat considering the he is fully four inches shorter than Mac. His whole body language suggests that he is completely and utterly astonished that even Mac, with his obviously low IQ, could hardly fail to mistake the front door for the tradesman's entrance. Mac regards him contemptuously. He has little time for such posturing.
"Mr Klugman," he says.
The man gives a start and his demeanour changes instantly. He half bows and smiles unctuously almost, but not quite, wringing his hands. "Mr Klugman? Ah, yes. You are Mr McDonald? This way please, sir. Mr Klugman is over here."
He prances towards the rear of the restaurant and hovers like a mother hen until Mac is seated and has ordered a drink.
Klugman watches this performance with wry disdain. "This is Kent," he says when, at last, the head waiter has left. "It is he who has a job."
Mac and Kent shake hands. Kent's handshake is over-powerful and clammy. Mac sees a man in his early forties going prematurely grey. He has the look of money but, unlike Klugman, it does not sit easily on him. His suit is just that bit too well cut, his tie just that bit too bright, his cufflinks and tie pin just that bit too ostentatious. Worry lines are etched into his face and her seems nervous and ill-at-ease. Mac does not take to him.
"Let's eat, then we'll talk," Klugman said.
The next hour is taken up with eating and small talk - most of it about people and places Mac does not know. Despite the exorbitant prices, the food is good and Mac is content to enjoy his meal and let the conversation flow around him. In fact, Klugman does most of the talking, Kent only contributing a point now and then. Klugman is an amusing and intelligent conversationalist. Mac notices, too, that Kent is enjoying neither the meal nor the occasion. Something is obviously preying on his mind. Only when they finally sit back with their coffee in front of them does Klugman return to the purpose of the meeting.
'Okay, Kent, what's the deal?'
Kent is evasive and not particularly articulate. He seems to have difficulty in meeting Mac's eye. His story comes out in fits and starts but as far as Mac can make out he has been threatened, he thinks by some former business associates. Recently the threats have become more explicit and more personal. There have been hints that his family could be in danger. He is more concerned about their safety than his. He thinks he knows who is making the threats and how to stop them but it will take him a week to make sure. He doesn't want his family around when he does - just in case.
Mac senses that there is more to this story than Kent is letting on but it's none of his business so he lets it pass.
"So what do you want me to do?"
"Take my daughters away to somewhere safe and protect them."
"What about your wife?"
"She's going to friends in France." Mac looks at him enquiringly. "For safety," Kent adds. "I don't want them together - just in case."
Mac shrugs. "Have you anywhere in mind?"
"Yes, I've managed to rent a small house in the country. It's quite isolated so you should be quite safe."
"Baby sitting is not really my line of work."
"I know but I need someone reliable and you'd be well paid."
"Hell, Mac," Klugman chimes in. "Regard it as a favour for me."
Mac grins wryly. "Let me get this straight. You want me to take your daughters to a place in the country and baby-sit them for a week? That's all? It won't be more than a week?"
"Oh, no. I'm fairly certain I can get it all straightened out by then."
Mac is far from convinced. Kent is not giving him the full story and he is tempted to simply thank Klugman for the meal and walk out. But he could certainly do with the money and, on the face of it, it doesn't seem to be too arduous a job. He wonders why Kent doesn't just hire a chaperone. Why does he want someone like him? On the other hand he does seem to be a worrier and maybe over-protective of his family. He strike Mac as being the type who would tie a parcel with both string and sellotape just to be sure it arrived safely.
Kent is staring at him anxiously and he realises he hasn't spoken for several minutes. 'Okay," he sighs. "I'll take the job. But I'll need all the details and there are several conditions."
"Thank you, McDonald." Kent's relief is almost palpable. "That's a great worry off my mind. And I'll meet any conditions you say."
Mac glances around. "I don't think this is the place to discuss it. Is there anywhere round here we would be less conspicuous - a quiet pub or something?" he asks Klugman.
Klugman thinks for a moment. "Can't think of many pubs near here. Not that sort of area. Wait a minute," he laughs. "I read a book about spies once, a long time ago, and it said the best place to be inconspicuous is in a public place. Would a hotel bar do?"
Mac nods. There's more to Klugman than it would appear. "Fine. Lots of men like us in a hotel bar."
They stroll the two blocks to the hotel. Mac notices that they were being followed.
"You have many enemies?" he asks Klugman.
"Enemies? A man in my position always has enemies." Klugman is surprised at the question. "Why do you ask?"
"I wondered if they were yours or not." He gives a swift half-glance behind him, barely moving his head.
"Mine," says Klugman without turning round. He looks at Mac appraisingly. "I shall have to speak to them. They're supposed to remain invisible."
"Oh, they are," says Mac with a brief smile. "They're actually very good."
Kent is shifting his gaze between them, a look of puzzlement on his face. He is about to speak, probably to ask what they are talking about, but Klugman forestalls him.
"Here we are," he says.
Mac leads the way to a quiet corner, his eyes, as always assessing the room and its residents. With their drinks before them, Mac asks Kent for more details of the job. Kent describes the location of the house: nearest village 3 miles away, no immediate neighbours, isolated. He says that the house will be fully stocked with everything they might need. He produces a map which Mac studies carefully.
"Is this the only copy?" he asks.
"No." Kent is hesitant. "I have one and I think there may be another one somewhere."
Mac looks up at him. "I strongly suggest you destroy all the other copies," he says in a flat voice. Kent looks startled but agrees. "Okay. Now what are the collection arrangements?"
"You'll collect them from their home, of course."
"No. We will meet at Kings Cross. They'll come by taxi - a black cab not a private car and you will get it from the local rank, not pre-booked."
"Now see here, McDonald," Kent bristles. "I don't know that I like your tone. I've even arranged a car for you."
"No. I'll hire the car."
"This really is too much. I've gone to a lot of trouble and expense to set this up and all you do is contradict me. I'm beginning to regret hiring you. Perhaps I should look elsewhere."
Mac shrugs. Across the table, Klugman is smiling broadly. "Easy, easy," he soothes. "If you hire a top professional like McDonald, you have to trust he knows his business, no? Perhaps, he'd explain why he thinks these precautions are necessary."
Mac sighs. To him it is obvious why and he resents having his methods questioned. Kent has a face like thunder and looks like he is about to get up and storm out. He sighs again.
"Mr Kent, you tell me your family is in danger because of you. If I make the arrangements I am distancing you from them. In all honesty I would have preferred to have taken your girls somewhere of my choosing." He shrugs. "Then if, God forbid, something should go wrong and you are threatened, you could say with complete and absolute honesty that you didn't know where they were. As it is you can say that all you know for sure is that they went to King's Cross Station. I'm sure nothing will happen but I never take unnecessary risks. I've found that, in the long run, it pays off."
"Well, I suppose…" said Kent, somewhat mollified. "But, see here. Look at it from my point of view. Here I am about to entrust my daughters to a complete stranger. Someone I've never met before today. It's only natural that I should want o make sure I was happy with the arrangements. Indeed, if I hadn't been desperate and Klugman, here, didn't think so highly of you…" he trailed off leaving the threat unvoiced.
Mac tried to smile reassuringly. "I quite understand Mr Kent. Your daughters are very precious to you and, naturally, you want to ensure their safety. All I can do is assure you that that is paramount in my thinking, too. Other than that, I'm afraid you will just have to trust me… or make alternative arrangements."
"Forgive me, McDonald," Klugman butts in. He turns to Kent. "Knowing the delicacy of the situation, I took the liberty of doing a bit of checking on Mr McDonald. I have to say even I was impressed. His reputation for reliability is second to none. Everyone I spoke to said that his word was his bond, so to speak, and that he always delivers exactly as promised."
Mac smiles wryly. He did not resent Klugman checking out his background - if he'd been in Klugman's position, he'd have done exactly the same. What surprises him is that Kent was willing to entrust the safety of his children to a man he'd never met on the advice of an acquaintance. It strikes him that Kent is either very foolish or very desperate - or maybe both. It is obvious that he is up to his unpleasant armpits in something rather nasty. The whole situation smells. Once again he considers whether he should just get up and walk out before he is sucked into something beyond his control. But, as Klugman has put it, his word is his bond. He becomes aware that Klugman is speaking to him.
"Okay, that's settled, them. Is there anything else you need, Mac?"
"I'll need a gun - a pistol - a legal one. Just as a safety precaution, you understand."
"I'll see to that."
"And I'll need a credit card."
"Why on earth…?" Kent demands.
Mac laughs. "How many people do you see renting a car, buying petrol, or whatever and slapping large piles of £20 notes on the counter?"
Klugman laughs. "Good point. Okay, I'll deal with that. Can I make a suggestion?"
"Go ahead." Mac is beginning to respect Klugman's thinking.
Klugman turns to Kent. "Does this house have a phone?"
"A phone? No, I don't think so. At least it was never mentioned."
"Okay, Mac, you need a mobile phone. That way you can be contacted when the coast is clear and you can call for help if a problem arises or simply to confirm you're all safe. Oh, and if I act as go-between, you two can avoid direct contact."
"Hmm, right. Good idea," Mac agrees, thinking he should have thought of it himself. Kent is nodding vigorously.
"Great. So that's settled then," Klugman booms. "So when does it all happen?"
After some discussion, they agree that three days is the minimum.