Vokes started towards a Peugeot Traveller parked thirty metres away. His thighs chafed as he waddled along. Vokes periodically daubed his sweat-glazed brow.

‘Hot today,’ he said as they reached the Traveller. ‘I’ll crank the air con up, don’t worry.’

‘It’s sixteen degrees, if that,’ Loader remarked, squinting at the overcast sky.

‘Is it? Feels a lot warmer, if you ask me.’ Vokes turned and nodded at Bowman. ‘I’m not the only one struggling in this heat, by the looks of it.’

Loader gave his colleague a long searching look. ‘What’s wrong with you, pal? You’ve been sweating like an activist in Hong Kong since we landed.’

‘Got a cold,’ Bowman snapped. ‘That’s all. It’s no big deal, mate.’

They piled inside the Traveller. The door thudded shut, and then Vokes backed out of the parking bay.

‘First time in Monaco, is it?’ he asked.

‘Something like that,’ Loader muttered.

‘It’s all right here, I suppose,’ Vokes said, answering a question no one had asked. ‘But me, I prefer somewhere a bit quieter. Too much noise here, too many people. The bars are too busy. Takes forever to get served, and the drinks cost a fortune.’

Vokes was a talker.

‘Is that right,’ Mallet said, feigning interest.

‘That’s why I moved to the Languedoc, see. Cheaper than here. And you can always get a drink. Tell you what, though. I don’t miss England. Not one bit. All that rain.’ He shuddered in horror at the memory. ‘Not for me.’

‘How long to the car park?’ Mallet said.

‘Four minutes,’ Vokes replied.

Mallet met Bowman’s eyes in the rear-view mirror. ‘Get changed. Both of you. Hurry.’

As soon as they had pulled clear of the heliport, Bowman and Webb ripped open their bags and started changing into their courier uniforms, their movements obscured from view through the tinted windows. Casey retrieved a male wig from her rucksack and handed it to Bowman. He pulled the wig down tight over his head, covering his dark hair with a mop of wavy blond locks. He planted the baseball cap on top, slipped his phone and company ID badge into his trouser pockets and shoved his civvies into his bag, along with his passport and wallet.

‘Any word from Six?’ Mallet asked.

Casey swiped and scrolled on her phone. ‘They just pinged Lang’s phone again. Target is still in place.’

‘Let’s hope he doesn’t move in the next twenty minutes,’ Loader said.

They skirted around the football stadium, sheered off the road and rolled down the entry ramp to the underground car park built directly under the pitch. Vokes descended the levels until he found the vehicle he was looking for: a silver Mercedes-Benz E-Class estate parked in the far corner. A big roomy vehicle, with space enough to accommodate five adults and a whole stack of luggage.