The pills were starting to kick in as Bowman returned to the hallway, the sweet warm buzz of the opiates spreading through his body. He extracted the magnetic key card from Lang’s wallet, took the Range Rover fob from the side table, checked that his Ruger was concealed under his jacket. Then he left through the front door. He checked his phone signal on the landing, got two bars, and tapped open the encrypted messaging app on his phone. Dialled Mallet’s number.

Mallet answered immediately.

‘Well?’ he asked.

‘We’re in,’ Bowman said tersely.

‘Any problems?’

Bowman told him about the heavy.

‘Is he under control?’ asked Mallet.

‘He’s tied up, with the others. Patrick’s keeping an eye on them.’

‘Where are you now?’

‘Heading down to the car park. I’ll be out in two minutes.’

‘We’re in the same spot,’ said Mallet. ‘We’ll be waiting.’

The private lift plunged straight down to the underground car park. Bowman stepped out into what looked like the world’s most expensive car showroom. Rows of Lamborghinis and Ferraris were parked side-by-side with Maybachs and Bentaygas. He located Lang’s Range Rover and hit the unlock button. He got inside, dropped the fob into the cup holder. Then stamped on the brakes and pressed the start button. The instrument panels woke up. He released the parking brake, rotated the gear selector to Drive, followed the signs to the exit.

His hands had stopped shaking by the time he steered the Range Rover out of the garage. He hung a right on to Avenue Princesse Grace and drove south for half a mile, following the same route they had taken to the apartment block from the stadium, but in reverse. The relief he had felt at finding the pills quickly gave way to a gnawing unease. He had taken a big risk in searching for Lang’s stash. And it had very nearly cost him his life.

He pushed the thought to the back of his mind as he hit the roundabout. He circled the roundabout counter-clockwise, slingshot north again on Princesse Grace. Past the dull apartments and the cafés and the Grace Kelly monument. He motored on until he spotted the Mercedes-Benz E-Class parked at the side of the road, next to the ice-cream parlour. Then Bowman eased off the gas and drew to a halt parallel with the E-Class estate, blocking the line of cars behind him.

A car horn blared as Mallet and Casey jumped out of the E-Class and jogged into the road. Both of them wore baseball caps. Mallet was clutching a laptop in a neoprene sleeve. The driver immediately to the rear stuck his head out of the window of his Rolls-Royce Cullinan SUV and hurled abuse at Bowman, honking his horn as Casey dived into the back seat. Mallet hopped into the front, pulled the door shut and said, ‘Drive.’