Jack’s heart sank. Of course! He was in a bloody helicopter flying over a metropolis; Bjarne couldn’t just land the helicopter in the middle of a busy street. Jack called Ridley and asked for a car, any car, to meet him at the helipad. He was still closer than any of Ridley’s team, who were now all heading out of London towards Heathrow. Ridley dispatched the nearest patrol car to Battersea, just as Bjarne received his permission to land.

*

Alberto Barro sat on a District Line train, flirting with the stunning Eastern European woman sitting opposite him as she peered over her mobile phone. He slid his feet forwards across the aisle until his toes met hers, then his eyes moved slowly upwards towards her tantalisingly short skirt. Her strikingly long legs were smooth, slender and perfectly tanned.

*

Jack leapt from the helicopter, shouting his thanks to Bjarne as he hit the ground. Bjarne grinned, saluted and shouted back, ‘Go get your man!’ This had definitely been the most exciting day of his civilian life, he thought, as Jack jumped into an unmarked police car that, with blue lights flashing, instantly sped away.

The traffic was light until they got to the south side of Battersea Bridge. Here, they met gridlock. The driver gave two bursts on his siren, but nothing moved. For Jack, however, the noise of the siren seemed to go straight through his skull and agonisingly into his brain. Jack speculated that he’d probably burst an eardrum. He reached back and felt the bandage on his head. It moved so freely that he guessed it wasn’t actually doing anything useful anymore. He pulled the last remaining sticky part away from his split scalp and threw it onto the dashboard. The driver stared at it in silent disgust.

‘Sorry.’ Jack dropped it into the footwell as the radio burst into life with a stream of updates . . .

‘White Mercedes taking the Heathrow turnoff. Still following. Heading for Terminal 5. That’s the terminal for Argentina. Airport security is aware and will help with a stop . . . Approaching Terminal 5. The barrier is down. I can see four, correction, five airport security . . . Mercedes is doing a left, left, left, in an attempt to double back . . . Yeah, she seems to be trying to make her way back onto the road. Can a couple of vehicles hang back, to stop her, please?’

More radios crackled into life and joined in the commentary as cars got into position to block Betina’s escape.

‘Stop, stop, stop . . . Driver running! Driver running! Pursuing on foot.’