‘You startled the life out of me. Who the hell are you?’ he replied.

‘State Security Service. My name is Major Okafor. I would like to speak to you, Mr Adebayo,’ he smiled, showing perfect, white teeth.

The man came a little closer, flipping open an identity document which depicted a photograph together with the logo of the SSS depicting an owl on a green crest.

Adebayo reeled nervously: the SSS were the national intelligence agency for Nigeria, universally feared by all.

‘What, err, what can I do for you, sir?’ Adebayo stuttered, trying to keep the real and naked fear from his voice.

‘Perhaps you could accompany us to our local office. I have a gentleman who would dearly love to have a conversation with you. Something to do with your charitable donations here and back in the UK.’ He spoke with charm that carried an undercurrent of menace and utter confidence that, frankly terrified Adebayo.

‘Well it’s not convenient right now, Major Okafor.’

Major Okafor held up a manicured hand and smiled. ‘Mr Adebayo, I’m afraid I must insist.’

Two headlights pierced the darkness from the far side of Adebayo’s sweeping drive and a dark VW van slowly eased from its parking spot towards the men.

The van pulled alongside them and the side door slid open, allowing an enormous, bulky man to unfurl himself from within. He was dressed in black combat trousers and a black leather jacket. He was shaven-headed, bearded and looked tough and dangerous as he stood to the side of the van door, his hand directing Adebayo inside.

‘Major, please. I haven’t done anything wrong,’ Adebayo stuttered again, a fleck of spittle flying from his lips as the terror began to take hold.

‘Mr Adebayo, please, let us not create a scene. My colleague, Captain Oni, is not a patient man; he really wants to go home to his wife as he recently got married, you see. If you delay him unnecessarily, he will be very displeased.’ Okafor smiled without even a trace of humour.

39

Six Weeks Later

Tom ran at pace through the Camden streets and onto Hampstead Heath, enjoying the burn as he pushed himself round the perimeter of the park and along past the bathing ponds, his breath escaping in clouds of vapour in the chilly morning air.

He ran for a solid hour, stopping frequently to perform press-ups and sit-ups, even performing a set of pull-ups from the low bough of a sycamore tree.

Once he was happy he’d done enough, he queued at the Parliament Hill coffee stall to get himself a large, black Americano and a bottle of water.

His drinks in hand, he walked over to a nearby bench, feeling his body cool as he took several long gulps of the water. Sitting down, he warmed his hands on the coffee cup and enjoyed the view in the early morning: the crisp, clear sun.