‘Seguma is already very rich. He’s pilfered millions from the oil profits. He doesn’t need the cash.’

‘Perhaps Lang has changed his mind,’ Bowman offered. ‘Maybe he stands to gain from the arrangement somehow.’

‘Greedy, is he?’ asked Loader.

Bowman laughed cynically. ‘That bastard would crawl over his crippled sister and shag his own mother for the sake of a few quid.’

Four minutes later, a phone rang across the floor space. Mallet grabbed the receiver, listened for several beats, then hung up again without replying. He snatched up his luggage and marched over to the breakout area.

‘Everyone ready?’

They nodded.

‘Let’s go, then. The wagon’s waiting.’

*

They left through the service yard, at the rear of the building. The same entrance once used to securely transfer prisoners to and from the adjacent cell block, back when the building had been a public-facing station. It was still fully dark as they swept outside. Four o’clock in the morning in late March. Technically spring, but the experience on the ground was somewhat different. The night was cold and dank. The air was so crisp you could almost snap it. Bowman followed the rest of the team across a litter-strewn yard towards a sliding metal gate flanked by a high fence topped with anti-climb spikes. There was a pedestrian door built into the panel to the left of the gate. An external keypad was fixed to the brickwork. A security light affixed to the metal lintel flickered intermittently.

Mallet halted in front of the door. He kicked aside the mountain of takeaway cartons, energy drink cans and cigarette packets at the foot of the door and pressed the release button on the keypad. The entrance unlocked with a whirring buzz. Mallet yanked it open and led the team down a sloping ramp towards a narrow side street. They walked past a line of cars and approached a jet-black Volkswagen Caravelle, headlamps burning in the semi-darkness of the street.

Mallet knocked twice on the passenger window. The side door sucked open, and then Loader got in. He took one of the middle seats and dumped his bag at his feet. Casey jumped in after him, then Webb squeezed into one of the bench seats in the rear of the van.

As Bowman shaped to follow him, Mallet reached out and grabbed his arm.

‘Are you fully focused, lad?’ he asked.

‘Yeah. Sure. Why?’

‘I need you razor sharp on this one,’ Mallet said quietly. ‘I can’t have any of my guys getting sloppy on the job.’ Before Bowman could protest, he added, ‘I know you’ve had a long day and no kip. That’s why I’m asking, you understand.’

His expression was kindly, but there was a knowing look in his eyes. Bowman started to suspect that Mallet knew more about him than he was letting on.

‘It’s all good,’ he replied flatly. ‘I’m ready.’

‘OK then.’