It was goldmine stuff, and all recorded on the phone’s covert app. Maybe it was the break he’d been waiting for: a chance to get into the solicitor’s office and gather some proper evidence. He needed to speak to Liam.

‘I gotta run, Stan. Business to attend to, mate. We’ll have a beer soon.’

‘It would make the decade worthwhile, Old Fruit. Whatever secret-squirrel stuff you are doing, be careful.’

‘Always careful, Stan.’

*

Tom drove from Jubilee House in Putney, where SC&O35 was based, having put together with Liam a snap briefing with the Home Office operational team. He was wired up with a covert camera, the lens concealed in a button on his lightweight jacket. The hard drive with a micro-SD card was secured in a holster at the small of his back. This would give more than enough recording for the deployment. A wireless remote was located in a key fob attached to the car keys: all he had to do was press the button and recording would commence. He’d used that kit a few times before and it had always provided excellent quality images. If the job went as planned, Adebayo would be caught bang-to-rights within a few hours.

In case he got into any problems, the Home Office had supplied a backup team which would stay close by, following his progress on a small vehicle tracker hidden in the BMW, but with no radio communications between them. They weren’t planning to arrest Adebayo that day, even if he did incriminate himself. Better to wait until the evidence was all in good order and ready to go, so that when the bust went down it would be a simple interview, charge, and remand in custody.

Jeta had called Tom about an hour earlier, a quiet, nervous voice at the end of the phone. ‘Tomo?’

‘Yeah, is that you, Jeta?’ Tom asked in Serbian.

‘Mira says I must meet you and we go to lawyer’s office. I’m in Hackney. When can you get here?’

‘I’ll be there in about an hour, we need to get you to the lawyer for 7pm, so meet me at Hackney Central and I’ll wait by the newsagents. Call me when you get there.’

He rang off and immediately called the number given to him by Mira. It was answered after eight rings.

‘Yeah?’ A mix of cockney and African accent questioned.

‘Is that Emmanuel?’ asked Tom, slightly upping his Serb accent.

‘Yeah, who is it?’

‘It’s Tomo. Mira asked me to call you. I’m delivering a package to you this evening.’

‘No problem. Call when you’re outside and I’ll bring you in. Get here for seven o’clock.’ And he hung up.