Sham marriages were a big problem: female EU citizens trafficked to Britain and forced into marriages with non-EU men who were typically from India, Pakistan or parts of Africa. The marriages were simply for the purpose of keeping those foreign nationals in the UK for as long as possible. Once the ceremony was done, the girls were either forced to work as prostitutes, or just shipped back home. The sums involved were eye-watering, with as much as £10,000 a time paid by the grooms to secure their place in the UK. It was a trade in misery, with many of the women treated dreadfully and paid very little, if anything.

Tom thought of his previous undercover legend, which had been remarkably similar to his own story, as a Balkan orphan, living in the UK since age twelve. That and previous deployments so far had generally been in supporting roles: a bit of muscle, a drug courier and, on one occasion, buying £100,000 of moody—or more accurately, counterfeit—bank notes from a Kosovan dealer. This new assignment, though, sounded meaty: an infiltration. The thought caused a flicker of excitement to flush through his body.

He’d left the military to lead a more normal existence, to try to be a normal guy in a normal home with a normal relationship. He had failed on all accounts. Being a cop had gone from being a job to almost an obsession. On the homicide team, ninety-hour weeks were commonplace, and he had been too wrapped up in the job to realise that his relationship was failing.

He had simply failed to notice how dissatisfied Bev had been with his constant absences. He had obsessed about work even when he was at home, constantly researching on the internet, trying to understand every aspect of crime and criminals.

When Bev left him, he wondered whether he would always be on his own, and whether he was capable of maintaining a normal relationship or even leading a normal life, whatever that meant. It was confusing.

He did miss the adrenaline rush of his military days with the SRR, though. He certainly didn’t get it shuffling virtual papers on computerised crime-recording databases, searching for extra clear-ups and detections. This new assignment could be just the ticket. He laced up his trainers, picked up his jacket, and left the apartment with a distinct spring in his step and a smile forming on his face.

*