‘Not a clue. They’re obviously well-placed and resourceful but also obviously not entirely lawful. He has a picture of me with one of Branko’s girls that he couldn’t have got legitimately. He’s obviously had access to phone data, which will also be illegal. If he grasses on us, then he gets himself in the shit. I can’t see any admissible evidence he has on us or it would have been IPCC not him that visited me this morning. Now that the Brankos and Adebayo are gone, I reckon we’re nearly home and dry.’ He paused for effect, taking a drink from his pint.

‘Well that’s a relief then at least. But where the fuck did you get off sending a kill team up to the Scottish Highlands to take out a family to get that SD card?’

‘Branko is an evil bastard. I had no choice; he’d have sold us all down the river. Novak would have got all of us thrown in jail for fucking ten years, minimum. I don’t know about you, Graham, but I don’t fancy that much,’ Taylor said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

‘So, what next, then? We just can’t leave Novak storming around with big guns, where will it end? He could decide to bloody kill us, he could get something admissible, he could land us all in jail.’ Jones spoke forcefully and somewhat surprisingly, thought Taylor.

‘Hang on, hang on, you’re talking about killing a cop? Please tell me that’s not what you’re saying,’ said Albrechtsen.

‘What do you suggest, Graham? I’m all ears.’

The big man just sat, staring blankly ahead for a moment before saying, ‘I never thought it would come to this. I know we pulled some bad shit capers on SOCA. But Christ, never murder!’

Taylor spoke, ‘If this comes out, best-case scenario we’re up for misconduct in a public office and conspiracy to pervert the course of justice. Worst-case scenario, it would be conspiracy to kidnap and murder: especially if Novak talks about the attempt to abduct him at Holborn nick. You knew all about Graham: there’s phone records between us on that and it was your contact at the Yard who got us the warrant card for the hit man.’

Albrechtsen sighed once more at the knowledge that he was more involved than he’d first thought. He had made some calls to a mate at Scotland Yard and smoothed the waters to issue a warrant card with less scrutiny than usual.

Jones stirred in his seat. ‘I have a contact. He is very efficient, he has had lots of practise, and he owes me a great big favour. He’s ex-Russian military and would probably sort this problem for us for a reasonable fee.’ He spoke evenly and calmly as if discussing a car repair, not the execution of a serving police officer.