The receptionist smiled politely as she looked at the warrant card. ‘I’ll have to get it authorised by the building manager, but I’m sure it’s okay.’

She made the call while Tom stared out of the window to the front of the building.

‘The manager says that’s fine. Take room 125 on the first floor. Here’s the key, if you can just drop it back when you’re done. Can you sign for it here?’ She indicated a key list on a clipboard.

Tom scribbled an illegible scrawl on the form.

‘I’ll be back in ten minutes if that’s okay,’ he said. ‘I just need to grab something.’

Tom left the building, crossed the road to the Café Nero opposite, and went inside.

He ordered a black coffee and a panini, which he paid for with his personal credit card. He sat at a table at the rear of the busy coffee shop and switched his iPhone on for the first time since disarming Martin. As the buzz of several missed calls and text messages broke the phone’s enforced silence, he imagined the signal hitting the nearby cell masts, announcing his phone’s presence back in cyberspace. He was now visible to the world, just as he wanted: now he could see who was doing the hunting.

He switched the phone back into airplane mode, silencing its presence once more. Most of the text messages had been from Neil Wilkinson, one from Liam Devlin, and a haughty one from Simon Taylor demanding to know where he was. A couple of voicemails were also showing as received, but he wasn’t willing to come off airplane mode to listen to those. He doubted anything of value would be on them in any case.

Tom left his coffee and panini behind and left the café, surprised to see a phone box a short distance outside. Finding a working payphone was a rarity, so Tom felt that at least something had gone his way today. He went into the booth, fed a coin into the slot and dialled the number for Neil Wilkinson, knowing that the number of the payphone would be visible at the other end.

‘Neil Wilkinson, can I help you?’

‘Neil, it’s Tom.’

‘Jesus, where are you? Everyone’s been crapping themselves.’ The emotion in Neil’s voice seemed genuine.

‘Never mind where I am, who did you tell I was going to Holborn?’

‘Just witness protection, Simon Taylor, and the Borough Commander.’

‘How did they get to me then?’

‘We’ve no idea; we don’t know how you’ve been compromised. Look, just come in, we can keep you safe.’

‘I don’t trust you, Neil, I don’t trust anyone.’ And he hung up, his presence now marked for everyone to see.