‘You’ll help us find Novak, as you didn’t tell us about the operation into my wife and sons.’

‘But it wasn’t a police enquiry, it was immigration looking at the solicitor,’ he had whined, his lips quivering in fear.

‘You will help us or your bosses will see this.’ Branko had produced a smartphone and played a section of video back to him. His heart had sunk as he watched.

The pin-sharp images on the small screen were of him, naked with Ana, clearly snorting cocaine from her tanned belly. The scene was so seedy it almost made him want to weep. Why was he so weak? He knew how the scene would be viewed. A saggy, middle-aged man with a barely-legal prostitute; the drugs would just be the icing on the cake. He could all-too-easily imagine the headline in the red-top press: ‘Senior Cop in Seedy Drug Vice Sting.’ He had shuddered at the prospect, feeling a cold sweat breaking out. His career would be finished and he could even end up in prison, his pension gone.

‘You either help us find Novak or these go to your bosses and the newspaper,’ Zjelko had growled, his blue eyes boring into him. ‘I don’t care how you do it; you get him for us. You have the connections, you’re a senior officer. Tap his phone and get into his bank accounts, whatever. Just get us leads on where he is. Adebayo will even pay you if you succeed. But if you don’t, you’ll have me to answer to, little pig.’

So that was it. He was fully committed and in way over his head. He didn’t feel that bad about Novak: the stupid little refugee had brought it upon himself. His motivations were the preservation of his career, avoiding imprisonment, and even worse: after all, he couldn’t imagine Branko letting him live if he didn’t find Novak.

He’d made the calls, called in favours and misled a few people into tagging extra phone and account numbers onto intercept applications and account monitoring orders. Fortunately, he had a friend at Ilford who he’d partied with in similar situations to that which had caused his predicament. That friend was able to take care of the SD card.

His other friend, at the National Crime Agency, was very helpful once he led him to believe that Branko had images of them both at the brothel. They shared similar tastes in women, so he was scared into helping him, and he had access to more intrusive tracing methods.

He’d passed on the information when he realised Novak was going to Holborn, but then the bastard had escaped and disabled the hit man. The Brankos insisted he kept looking but Novak had gone dark and off the radar completely.