Put starkly, there was no good way out of the catastrophe. He could kill himself publicly enough for Joe to know about it. An act of seppuku, in front of Joe’s house, perhaps? A samurai blade being a good deal easier to come by than a 9mm. A dignified, and necessarily painful way out. Rip his own guts open with a short sword. And then dying of the resulting blood loss, without anyone to give him the mercy stroke. With the hope that Joe would be assuaged by the fearsome suffering involved. And not take his disappointment out on Roz and Tamara. And Martin, of course. It was either that or surrender himself to who knew what torture before he died. But still without knowing if his wife and friends were safe.

Some choice.

He parked his car a quarter mile from the flat. Approached carefully. Taking time to be sure it wasn’t being watched. Nothing out of the ordinary to be seen. Perhaps cleaning out Martin’s armoury had been enough for them. He listened at the door for five silent minutes. Heard nothing. Put on a pair of latex gloves. Then let himself into the flat with the key Martin had given him years ago for emergencies. Stopped in the hall and listened again. Breathing tidally. Every sense alert for any sign that there were men waiting for him. Again, nothing.

Moving quietly, he lifted the rug at the bottom of his friend’s bed. To reveal a floorboard fastened in place with wood screws. Sprayed black to match the others. But brand new. Removed them with his penknife, lifting the board to reveal a long green bag. Heavy too, a proper lift. He knew what he’d find inside it. Useful, but not ideal. Heavy firepower, but useless for close quarters. He sat on Martin’s sofa contemplating the weapon. Better than nothing, but almost guaranteed to get him killed if he went after Castagna with it. Condemning all around him to Joe’s vengeance. Back to square one.

A spark of light in his peripheral vision caught his attention. His phone’s notification light blinking. A message received. Another threat, probably. He leaned over and picked it up. From… Nemesis? Mickey’s attention snapped down onto the screen.

‘You only have one chance to get through this. Numbers 7, 8 & 9 are the key.’

Along with a postcode. Mickey took a look on Google Maps. E1. Bethnal Green. Wondering for a moment why the hell Nemesis had sent him the postcode of a railway line. Until the penny dropped. Railway arches? He clicked through into street view, orienting the view to look at the row of arches beneath the line. Various business uses. Baker, car repair shop, bathroom sales. Decorating supplies, insurance broker, a couple of print shops. Inevitably, several cab companies.