The receptionist was alive. Injured but not fatally. She groaned and then, thankfully, lost consciousness. Now, thought Abbott, it was time to leave.

And then he felt the gun behind his ear. A voice that he recognised. ‘Looks like I’m doing you another favour, pal.’

‘McGregor.’

‘The one and the same.’

‘You really are Lady Norton’s star pupil at the moment, aren’t you?’

‘How about you drop your weapons and get in the motor?’ said McGregor.

‘How about I don’t?’

They both heard it at the same time. The sound of sirens in the distance, getting closer. Abbott grimaced. It was the last thing he needed. ‘We don’t have much time, Abbott,’ insisted McGregor. ‘Listen, pal, I can’t afford to leave you alive. Come with me, get in the car, we’ll get you away from here. We’ll get you paid. Turn the clocks back. Come to an arrangement. Or you die here in the car park. It’s up to you.’

Abbott’s fingers relaxed. His sidearm dropped to the ground. It wasn’t surrendering, he told himself. It was living to fight another day. ‘And the other one,’ insisted McGregor. ‘Lift it out carefully, finger and thumb, drop it to the ground.’

With the sirens getting louder, Abbott did as he was told. He still had his knife in his boot.

‘I’ll be having that knife, too,’ said McGregor, as if reading his thoughts, and Abbott felt the Gerber leave his boot.

From the hotel came two gunmen, men that Abbott hadn’t previously seen. One of them came to Abbott, looked at him with hate-filled eyes and dragged his arms behind him in order to zip-tie him.

‘Thanks, pal,’ McGregor told his associate. He leaned forward, speaking to Abbott. ‘Time to take a trip, Abbott.’

A moment later, he was in the back of the Range Rover with the hate-filled zip-tie guy at his side. Another had appeared from the hotel and Abbott recognised him as Morris from Doyle’s set-up. That was interesting, Morris turning out to be a second Norton mole. Morris gestured for Abbott’s laptop before clambering into the second Range Rover with the other guy. They were leaving three men behind. Soon, the clear-up would begin.

Meanwhile, McGregor took his place in the passenger seat. Beside him sat a figure that Abbott recognised. ‘Hello, Mr Kilgore,’ said Abbott.

‘Hello, Mr Abbott,’ said Kilgore, ‘look what I found.’ He held up the Jiffy bag then tore it open. From it he took the CD. ‘Well, well, well . . . Looks like we arrived just in time. This, presumably, is the compromising material that Doyle used to boast of having. We often wondered if he was bluffing, but it turns out not.’