He joined the long stream of men and women who were making their way down to the Eastbound platform, towards Westminster and the City of London.

Even in the heavy January snow, Sloane Square Underground Station was busy.

More than enough witnesses to keep me alive, Michael hoped. The safest place I can be.

The crowd moved slowly down the stairs to the platform, their speed limited by sheer numbers. The pace gave Michael some fleeting confidence. Anyone trying to rush would cause a commotion, and a commotion was a warning.

It would give him time to act.

With every step down he looked behind. Scanning for Romeo Meyer. For the man in the tan overcoat. Or for anyone else who stood out, as difficult to spot as they would now be.

Michael’s section of the crowd reached the bottom of the stairway a few seconds later, and, as it did, the commuters began to spread out along the platform. Normally Michael would carry on straight ahead, walking towards the far end, where the front of the train would stop. But today the darker stretch at the back of the platform seemed to offer greater cover.

He hesitated at the foot of the stairs, unsure which way to go. He chose neither. Instead he pushed his way back into the descending crowd. He took another look upwards, to the top of the staircase. To spot anyone familiar coming down, hidden in the endless tide of commuters.

He saw no one who stood out.

The information screen listed the next eastbound train as one minute away.

A feeling of physical relief was beginning to stir in his gut. With the train almost here, it was unlikely that anyone not already on the staircase would reach the platform in time to board it. Michael could be safely on the nearest carriage and away in a matter of just seconds.

A final glance up the stairs. The crowd of people coming down the stairs had grown. With Michael standing at the bottom, the result was inevitable. A mass of bodies – scores of them, funnelled into a tight battering ram and determined to reach the platform in time – began to push him backwards.

He turned with the momentum as it carried him towards the platform’s edge. Close enough that he was inches from where the carriage would soon be. He scanned the opposite westbound platform too. Not that they could get to him from there. Soon he would be on a train and be away from the danger behind him.

The danger behind me.

Staring down at the tracks from the edge of the platform, with the pressure of the crowd against his back, he felt a sudden moment of dread.

Why the hell was someone as distinctive as Romeo standing out front like that? Where he couldn’t be missed?

A feeling of panic began to rise up from his gut.

And why was the first guy so easy to spot? They were acting like amateurs.