‘That’s partly true. I got compromised on a UC job. There’s at least one corrupt cop passing info to some properly nasty Serbs, and some bastard tried to terminate me with extreme prejudice this morning when I tried to get into Holborn nick. I don’t know who to trust, Stan. They have serious reach. I think they have intercepts on me and possibly surveillance. The guy who tried to take me out was a DS Martin Green, warrant number 203745, allegedly of witness protection. The warrant card is genuine, but he has a fake driving licence.’

Stan exhaled heavily. ‘What can I do?’

‘I need you to check out Martin Green and the warrant number; I think the card was issued today and is genuine. Find out what you can, eh?’

‘Leave it with me. Anything else?’

‘I may need a job car with covert blues-and-twos.’ He figured an unmarked car with the under-grille flashing lights and siren would be useful if the situation went as he thought it might.

‘Righto, Royal, I’ll see what I can do. Stay by the phone and I’ll get back to you.’

‘Thanks, Royal,’ Tom said, hanging up.

He looked at his worn and scuffed watch; it was only one o’clock. He couldn’t stand the thought of waiting around in the room for another six hours. The time could be used a little more fruitfully, and he wanted to get a better idea as to who was following him.

Time enough to test his hunters, see who he was dealing with and, more importantly, how good they were.

A tinge of excitement began to push the mix of fear and rage away. He’d gone up against serious bad guys in the past and he wanted to see who was out there this time.

*

He left his hotel room and crossed over the road to the Asda superstore, an idea forming of how he could draw his pursuers out into the open. His hair was currently longer than average for a police officer, he had a heavy stubble and was casually dressed in jeans and trainers. Given that that was what his pursuers were no doubt looking out for, a change of appearance was in order.

After entering the store, he browsed for five minutes at the magazine racks and leafed through a copy of a magazine, keeping a peripheral view of the CCTV monitors on the wall by the entrance security station. He didn’t think he was being followed, but a little anti-surveillance could only be a good thing. He saw no one suspicious: only shoppers.

He made his way to the clothing section and selected a simple navy-blue suit and a white shirt-and-tie set. He picked up a pair of plain black shoes and went to the checkout, grabbing a pack of disposable razors and some shaving foam on the way.