‘I had a satellite pass over the property twenty minutes ago: there were two cars there, an old Land Rover Defender and a new looking Mercedes SUV.’

‘The Defender is Cameron’s; the Mercedes must be the kidnappers.’

‘Makes sense. I’ve been checking on the Brankos’ phone signals. All are still in North London and there is no trace of their vehicles on ANPR, so I suspect it’s just the Glasgow crew you have to deal with.’

Tom digested this information. If there was only one vehicle, it meant a maximum of five individuals at the cottage, if the Brankos were still in London. Tom couldn’t see that they would commit more resources to what was, essentially, a babysitting job.

‘Anything from our corrupt police friends?’

‘Branko has been calling Taylor, probably making sure you’re still in London.’

‘I guess so. Listen, I have to go; I’ve got stuff to do.’

‘Be careful and stay safe.’

‘Always,’ said Tom, and he rang off.

The kettle began to whistle and Tom took a tea bag from a jar on the unit to make himself a cup of black tea. In his mind he was back in a war zone, preparing for whatever may come next.

He opened the peli-case and withdrew the MP7, checked the action and ensured that the weapon was unloaded, more by habit than necessity.

It was immaculately clean, but he still stripped and examined all the components in any case, fully aware that his life depended on its reliability. Once satisfied, he reassembled the weapon and set it to one side. He screwed on the square-shaped suppressor, ensuring it was tight.

He took one of the magazines and loaded it with thirty-five high-velocity rounds but topped it off with five of the subsonic low-velocity ones. The remaining fifteen low-velocity rounds he loaded into the remaining magazine.

He checked the workings of the Armasight scope, which was secured onto the weapon’s Picatinny sight-mounting rail. It seemed simple enough to use and similar to other optics he’d used in the past. There was a rubberised menu button on the top of the sight, with directional buttons that would adjust the sight’s directions minutely once the operator had ascertained how true the weapon fired when testing. He fully intended to use ten of the low-velocity rounds to give at least a basic zeroing, living as always by the military rule of the Seven Ps.

He went to the large, heavy, metal cupboard in the corner of the room which was secured with a stout combination padlock. He always kept a spare set of warm clothes in the bothy after one occasion when, soaked after an unsuccessful deer stalk, he had to endure cold and soaking clothing for hours while they slowly dried on him by the fire.