‘No way. It could be dangerous, and I don’t know if he’s alone. He won’t talk in front of you. You’re not a field agent, you’re a consultant. No chance.’

‘Don’t be stupid. I can keep watch. I can also track Ivan using my iPad, so we can see where he is.’

‘How?’

‘Easy. I have his phone number. A simple hack and I can use his phone’s GPS to track him. It will take me about three minutes to sort out. You gotta admit that’s good tradecraft, being in control of your informant.’

Tom paused for a second. He couldn’t deny that it was perfect tradecraft that many a specialist agent-handler would use. Be in control of your informant, not the other way around, was the mantra of safe informant-handling. Tom wondered just how much she knew, and how much of ‘just a consultant’ she was.

‘Okay. I can’t fault your logic.’

‘Sure thing, boss man,’ she said as she returned to her laptop and produced an iPad from her holdall. She began tapping at the keys with the look of intense concentration he’d noticed before, her tongue slightly protruding from the corner of her mouth.

Tom picked up the Sig, tucking it in the rear of his waistband, and also took his burner phone and his iPhone. He then secreted the SD card behind a loose edge of carpet. There was nothing to link him to the hotel but why take the risk? The SD card was the only bargaining chip he had left.

‘Okay. I have him live now on GPS. He’s at an address at Melrose Avenue in Willesden.’

‘Blimey. You’re better than Mike gave you credit for. Do you know how long that would take me through official channels?’

‘Never, would be my guess.’

‘Come on, let’s go and get this done. I’m tired and need to sleep.’

*

The cab arrived outside the hotel exactly six minutes later: a beaten-up Nissan driven by a Pakistani driver who, it seemed, spoke little English. That was perfect; a chatty driver was the last thing they needed at that moment.

After being dropped off at the Target roundabout they made their way on foot to the McDonalds car park, where the VW Passat was waiting: exactly where Tom had asked Stan to leave it, with the key secreted just inside the rim of the exhaust pipe.

They got in and Tom took a moment to familiarise himself with the controls and the location of the blues-and-twos. Pet fired up the app on her iPad.

‘He’s not moved yet. He’s still at the address in Melrose Avenue, so we have plenty of time.’