By now, Lazar had stopped at the rear of the Kangoo and applied the brake on the chair. He thumbed an electronic key from his pocket and the lights on the vehicle flashed.

The Kangoo had an electrically operated folding ramp and a power winch to load the wheelchair through the rear doors. Someone with too much time on his hands had added a note in the file to say it was a Bekker conversion. Lazar didn’t look strong enough to have helped his brother out of his chair and into the van without the winch. And there was no doubt the Zhivkos could afford an extra thousand pounds or so for the technology.

‘Well, business is over for the day. I reckon we can knock off and claim our Oscars.’

‘Not until they’re clear of the area. Let’s do the job properly.’

‘OK. But all this on account of some dodgy intelligence? I hope Europol appreciate what we’re going through on their behalf.’

The camera’s field of view covered the Zhivkos’ vehicle and three cars parked in front of it on the north side of Stephenson Place. Surveillance had confirmed that the brothers always arrived early to make sure they got a space for the Kangoo near their shop. To the west, there were double yellow lines along the kerb all the way to the lights at the corner of Knifesmithgate, so the position of the camera had pretty much decided itself. The first-floor store room above the charity shop provided a decent vantage point, at the right angle to catch the face of anyone leaving the shop. Even better, there were bars on the store-room window and stacks of boxes already in place to disguise the camera’s outline.

A radio crackled. ‘Have they left the shop?’

‘Yes, they’re in the street, about to load the wheelchair into the van. It looks like they’re heading for home.’

‘A wash-out, then.’

The monitor showed that Lazar Zhivko had positioned his brother’s chair behind the Renault and left him there while he went to the driver’s door. There was still time for a contact, but not much. The brothers would be gone from the scene in the next couple of minutes.

‘A couple of lads are walking towards the shop from Knifesmithgate.’

‘Lads?’

‘Sorry. Two white males, aged eighteen to twenty, wearing jeans and sweatshirts. They’re slowing a bit as they get to the vehicle. No, they’re just admiring the van.’

‘They’re not interested in the Zhivkos?’

‘They’re passing on. No contact. We got them on film anyway.’

‘Nothing. As soon as the brothers move out of the street, we’ll call it a day here. Team Two can pick them up at home.’