He took the lift to the sixth floor, slipped into his room and hung the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the door handle. He found his washbag next to the sink in the grotty bathroom and fished out a tobacco tin hidden in a secret compartment at the bottom of the bag. He took out a spare SIM card and paperclip from the tin, teased out his phone’s SIM card holder with the bent clip, replaced it with the spare SIM. Then he powered up, tapped in his passcode and opened the secure messaging app. The most secure app on the market. Military-grade encryption. The Regiment used the same one, for covert comms on ops.

He dialled the only number stored in the contacts list. The person on the other end picked up on the third ring.

‘I was wondering when you’d call,’ the throaty voice said.

Lenny Scavell, his dealer.

Bowman preferred to buy the opioids through Carter Grant, his brother-in-law, and one of Freddie Lang’s most trusted lieutenants. Which was a pain in the arse, involving frequent trips up to Roomers, a club in east London owned by the Langs, to meet with Lenny Scavell. Lenny was a long-time associate of the Lang twins. A risky set-up. But safer than buying stuff on the streets in Hereford, he figured.

Bowman said, ‘I need a score. The usual.’

Scavell hack-coughed. ‘When?’

‘Tonight, mate. Soon as.’ He added, ‘I’m in town.’

There was a long pause. Bowman could hear dance music thumping in the background, voices. Several of them. Scavell said, ‘Tonight ain’t good. You seen all this stuff on the news? Some terror attack at the royal wedding or something. Fucking madness.’

Bowman said, ‘I can’t wait until tomorrow, Lenny.’

‘Tough shit. I ain’t going anywhere tonight. Not with all that chaos. Come down the club.’

‘I can’t.’

He didn’t want to be seen anywhere near the Langs’ club right now. Not for a long time, not after what had happened to Freddie.

A long sigh whispered down the line.

‘Where are you?’ Scavell asked.

Bowman gave the address of the hotel.

Scavell paused again. ‘Wait there. I’ll call you back in a minute.’

He hung up. Two minutes later, Bowman’s phone trilled again.

Scavell said, ‘One of my boys will sort you out. But it’ll cost double. Consider it a delivery charge.’

‘Fine.’ Bowman wasn’t in the mood to argue. ‘When can your man get here?’

‘Two o’clock. Earliest he can do.’

Bowman glanced at his G-Shock. Half eleven. Two-and-a-half hours until Lenny’s man would arrive with the goods. A long time to wait. But no choice.

‘There’s a car park around the corner from the hotel,’ he said. ‘Opposite a Vietnamese takeaway. Tell your man I’ll meet him there.’