He went out onto the pavement. Put in a pair of wireless earbuds and leaned back against a lamppost. His eyes fixed firmly on Mickey through the glass. Who, not wanting to stare back, pretended to read a copy of the Clarion. Which was running the story of a missing subeditor. Although more from the “missing in London” perspective than with any concern for foul play. After ten minutes of discussion with whoever had been at the other end, Shaw walked back in. Bought himself a bottle of water and sat down facing Mickey.

‘My team are sceptical, to say the least of it. But we’re all realists. The sort of money you’re saying might be in those arches is a powerful incentive.’

‘Might be. I can’t guarantee anything.’

‘Yeah. That’s part of the scepticism. But there’s logic in what you say. And this has to happen before 06.00 tomorrow, right?’

Mickey nodded. Holding his breath while Shaw pondered the question one last time. Before he either agreed to help or just got up and walked away. Leaving Mickey to decide how he wanted to die.

‘We might be in. But…’ Shaw raised a hand to forestall any comment. ‘From this moment on you’re under strict conditions. Give me both of your phones. If either of them ring you’ll answer with me listening in. No outgoing calls. From now on you don’t leave my sight. So I hope you’ve had your morning shit.’

Mickey was somewhat relieved that he had. Although summoning a bowel movement after his call with Joe hadn’t been very difficult.

The two men returned to Shaw’s apartment. Picking up his car keys and legally held pistol, registered under his protection business. Then he drove them to a location in South London, Mickey blindfolded for the last mile. Inside a small light industrial unit, Shaw’s team were waiting. Familiar to Mickey from Belize. Their expressions neither friendly nor hostile. Shaw gestured to a chair. Tossed Mickey a small bottle of water from a half-consumed brick of twenty-four.

‘You’ve met the team. That’s Jenny.’ Pointing to the woman who’d shot the two Chinese who’d been stalking him and Wade. Short cut blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. ‘The best CQ shooter I ever met. That’s Rick.’ A big man, hard-faced. As far from being “grey” as it was possible to be. ‘Demo expert and medic. We used to call him Doctor Dynamite in the Regiment. And Darren.’ Pointing to a slim, hatchet-faced man with close-cropped black hair over alert brown eyes. ‘Literally ambidextrous. Which means he can actually do the computer game thing and use two weapons at a time. He’s our comms and kit man.’

He pointed to a chair at the end of the table.