‘Look,’ sighed Abbott, ‘I did the job on Doyle. I found this CD. I realised it was a useful thing to have so I decided to mail it to myself for insurance. Now, let’s talk about that money for doing the Doyle job. I’ve provided McGregor with a list of—’

‘That money has already been transferred,’ retorted Kilgore impatiently. ‘Your men have been paid.’

Abbott had a moment or so of experiencing a deep sense of satisfaction, thinking of his guys getting their reward.

‘OK, well, I guess that makes us even.’

‘Apart from the fact that you still have a game to compete in.’

‘You can’t be serious.’

‘I’m deadly serious. Never been more serious. This –’ he bran-dished the CD, ‘this and whatever your motives surrounding it, changes nothing. You will still compete for Lady Norton; you will still win, and you will still be paid what you are owed. As for whatever loyalties you may have, they are for you to know and us to guess at. The simple fact of the matter is that Lady Norton needs a proxy and the more I know of you in action, the more convinced I am that you are the right man for the job.’

Abbott’s mind was racing. Was it time to revert to plan A? Compete in the game willingly and try to take them down then? But no. He was being set up. There was no way he was playing their game, literally, metaphorically, any other -ly.

‘I’m sorry, mate, you’re nuts if you think that I’m going to go out and kill for you.’

‘Oh, you are,’ said Kilgore, sighing pleasantly. ‘The reason is that two weeks ago we cloned your phone. Turns out that one of your contacts is the same woman we noted was conducting her own research on us.’

So that was it. They had put two and two together to make four.

That was what had brought them to . . .

Tess.

Kilgore had opened a laptop, angling the screen. ‘Can you see this?’ he asked Abbott.

‘Yes.’

‘Good,’ said Kilgore, and he punched a button.

The image that appeared was Tess. Just Tess. She had a piece of tape across her mouth. Her hands – which were up, almost in front of her face – were zip-tied, just as Abbott’s were.

And Abbott knew three things. First, it was all on him that she was in this predicament. Second, he was going to get her out of it. Third, he would have to play their game. He would have to play their game and win.

‘What happens now?’ said Abbott.

‘You take a nap,’ said Kilgore.

Abbott was aware of a movement from the man sitting beside him and turned his head just in time to see the hypodermic needle but too late to do anything about it – nothing but fall into unconsciousness as the needle went into his neck and the sedative did its work.