‘Yeah, I think you have a few corrupt cops to bring down. Good luck.’

‘Let’s go fishing soon,’ said Mike.

‘I’d like that; I can teach your arse how to catch a salmon.’ With that, Mike hung up.

The helicopter engine-note changed as the blades whirled and it took off. Tom watched out of the window until it disappeared over the treeline. He needed a shower, a change of clothes and some breakfast before setting off to London.

The next phase of the plan was already forming in his mind.

32

The Next Morning

Tom woke early, glad to be in his Kentish Town apartment after the rigours of the past few days. He rubbed at his sternum, which still throbbed thanks to the trauma inflicted by the 9mm bullet.

The journey down from Scotland had taken over ten hours once he’d fuelled up at the tiny local petrol garage, which had the benefit of no security cameras. He’d paid in cash and didn’t need to refuel again, as the BMW X5 was surprisingly economical for such a big, powerful car. Shona had prepared some food and a flask of tea for the journey, so he didn’t need to stop other than to relieve himself at quiet locations off the motorway.

He had driven straight to Heathrow airport, arriving just after 6pm. He drove straight to the medium-term parking close to Terminal One, being careful to keep his face away from the many CCTV cameras in the area. The tinted windows would have made any images of limited value, but he wanted to have as little connection to the vehicle as possible, as all its previous occupants were now dead and, most probably, at the bottom of the North Sea.

He had parked on the second level in the darkest recess he could find, where he quickly switched the number plates, putting the genuine ones back on the vehicle and stowing the false ones in the small rucksack he carried that contained only the remainder of his food, flask and passport.

Finally, he had used baby wipes to clean all the surfaces he’d touched to remove any DNA or fingerprint traces. Satisfied, he had then set off in search of a cab back to Kentish Town.

It was unlikely anyone would take any notice of the BMW for a number of weeks and, if Mike had laid the trail of breadcrumbs he’d referred to, it would all add to the picture of the Brankos fleeing the UK.

The switch of plates also had the advantage that, if Tom had hit any ANPR cameras throughout the journey down, the false plates would take the enquiry no further. He had broken the plates into numerous pieces which he’d disposed of in multiple dustbins on his walk from the Tube station to his apartment.