‘Sahim Kovacevic?’

He put the chain on the door and opened it a fraction. A motorbike messenger, holding a slim envelope. ‘Yeah, that’s me. What do you want?’

‘Just take this.’

The man thrust the letter through the gap.

‘Do I need to sign anything?’

‘No.’

He went back up to the flat and opened it.

News of your brother. Meet me at your mother’s flat, 22.00. Nasima

Chapter 24

24

Tom moved briskly through St James’s Park in the hope that his head would have cleared by the time he reached his destination. Luckily Invicta’s headquarters were only a short walk from his father’s club, where he had stayed the night after an evening of rather too much drinking. He had read about the explosion in one of their hostels over breakfast but when he’d called Rolt’s office they had insisted that the meeting was still on.

The street had been blocked at either end by police Transits with mesh grilles over the windows. Armed police stood at either side of the front doors. One stepped forward as Tom approached.

‘Can I help?’ he said, in a tone that suggested help was the last thing on offer.

‘I’ve got an appointment with Vernon Rolt.’

‘Your name, please, sir?’

‘Buckingham.’

The officer stepped back and knocked on the door. A cop inside opened it. The first repeated Tom’s name.

The cop inside consulted a clipboard and nodded. The first officer’s expression changed. ‘Sorry, sir. It’s all due to the bombing.’

‘That’s confirmed now?’

‘’Fraid so.’

Tom went into the reception area. The place was strewn with the silver boxes of a TV crew. The receptionist was taking a call so he went straight past and followed the cables up the stairs.

A powerful light shone out of one of the doorways. In the corridor a young woman was standing beside a TV technician watching a monitor. She looked up as Tom approached and was about to shoo him away when she appeared to recognize him. ‘Are you Mr Rolt’s eleven o’clock?’

Tom gave her hand a firm, business-like shake. ‘Tom Buckingham.’

‘I’m Phoebe. He’s overrunning, got the BBC in there. Would you like to wait in the boardroom?’

‘This about the hostel?’

She nodded gravely.

‘I’ll linger here and listen, if that’s okay.’

He leaned against the wall outside Rolt’s office, where a couple of technicians were perched on the silver boxes. Phoebe stood beside him. He could see the two men in profile, Rolt and the BBC man interviewing him, but a monitor in front of one of the technicians showed the live feed. Tom expected Rolt to be smouldering with rage after the bombing. But if he was angry, he had it well under control. He sat upright but relaxed, his hands folded in his lap, a model of British restraint.