‘There’s no need to call me “boss”. You can call me John from now on. The nature of our work means that we’ll sometimes find ourselves in the company of people outside the Regiment. People who won’t know who we are, or what we do. I don’t want you dropping a bollock in that type of situation.’

‘I can manage that . . . John.’

Mallet paused and gave him a long hard look. ‘One more thing. Your brother-in-law. Carter Grant.’

‘What about him?’

‘He’s a criminal. No point denying it. It was flagged up when you joined the Wing. The head shed decided to overlook it at the time, but you’ll need to stay away from him now. You can’t be seen in the presence of organised crime figures . . . however hard that may be for you personally.’

Bowman felt a stab of anxiety. He recalled the vetting process he’d undergone when joining the Wing. They had listened to his phone calls, read his text messages, emails and social media posts. They had even dived into his bank accounts to search for dodgy transactions. At the time, he had assumed he was in the clear. But now he started to wonder what else they might have uncovered. He mentally reviewed the trips he’d made to Freddie Lang’s club in Romford over the past few months, the pills he’d scored from Lenny Scavell.

Does Mallet know about my addiction? If so, why is he offering me a job with the Cell?

‘I understand it will be difficult not seeing your sister and your niece,’ Mallet went on. ‘But that’s the sacrifice you’ll have to make if you want to join the Cell.’

Bowman sighed inwardly with relief. He doesn’t know.

‘Well?’ Mallet spread his hands. ‘Are you interested?’

‘Fuck it,’ he said. ‘I’m in.’

‘Good.’

Mallet turned and rapped his knuckles on the glass twice. Through the tinted glass, Bowman saw the heavies turn round and yank open the car doors before they folded themselves back inside the BMW. Henderson rode shotgun. Buzzcut took the wheel. Williams squashed in the back, next to Bowman and Mallet. The latter signalled to the driver in the rear-view mirror.

‘OK, guys. Let’s go.’

Buzzcut met his eyes in the rear-view and fired up the engine. He steered smoothly away from the taxi bay, glanced over his shoulder and pulled out into the main road. They cantered on past the old Royal Mint and headed east, beyond Tower Bridge.

‘Where are we going?’ asked Bowman.

‘Headquarters,’ Mallet said. ‘There’s a team briefing in half an hour. Then we’ll tell you all about the mission.’

Nine

Nine