‘Well, I’m not sure about the last part.’ He also wondered what he meant by the ‘right sort of background’.

Rolt ignored this and pressed on. ‘Able to represent me, represent Invicta, at any kind of event. But I have to go out and recruit. I can’t wait for that sort of person to wander in here. So we keep an eye out for who’s on the move.’

Phoebe knocked and opened the door. The flash of anger from Rolt came without any warning. ‘I said we weren’t to be disturbed.’

She held her ground.

‘Sorry. The editor of The Times is asking if you’d do a piece for tomorrow. They’re offering you a whole page.’

‘Okay, okay.’ Rolt got up. ‘Sorry to cut it short. How about you come and have a look at our campus? Get a sense of what we’re about. And then let’s talk again about your mate.’

Chapter 25

25

The driver was waiting in Reception, dark suit, REME tie. Even without the tie Tom would have clocked him as ex-Army at fifty yards: the bearing and the battered face were giveaways.

‘This way, sir.’

The hint of contempt in the ‘sir’ marked him out as a probable ex-RSM.

‘Actually it was “sergeant” till last week. What’s your name?’

‘Jackman, sir.’

A gleaming dark green Bentley was parked outside. ‘Nice wheels. Good to see your boss is flying the flag.’

Tom reached for the front door but Jackman opened the rear.

‘I think you’ll find the back more comfortable, sir.’

Tom slid into the hushed compartment and closed the door. Extra thick windows indicated it had been bullet-proofed. Jackman climbed in and brought the car to life. Tom felt his frame press back in the seat as the twin turbo-charged V8 powered forward.

‘Really, it’s a Volkswagen underneath. Pains me to say it, but the Krauts have done a bloody good job.’

‘My great-grandad raced a Bentley in the twenties.’

Jackman sighed. ‘Bet he’s turning in his grave knowing that nasty little Führer-mobile was what saved it from oblivion.’

They swept up Park Lane, the needle touching fifty.

‘Watch out – I got pulled over up here on my bike.’

‘Nah, not us. The cops know whose this is. Mr Rolt’s immune. Makes my job a lot pleasanter, I can tell you.’

Tom still had a titanic hangover and wasn’t in the mood for conversation, but he decided he might as well milk Jackman for all he could get. ‘Been with him long?’

‘Few years.’

‘And before?’

‘Well, it was the REME till 2008, then a bit of a blank after that.’

Tom glanced at him, curious.

Jackman’s gaze was fixed on the road. ‘Put it this way: if Mr Rolt hadn’t tripped over me on the pavement, I’d most probably be six feet under by now.’ He shot a glance at Tom. His heavily etched face told its own story.