‘This kind of job,’ Torgau told his daughters, ‘disposing of someone in a way that sends out an unforgettable message, may seem like the most fun, but it’s the rarest kind of contract we undertake – most often the target must vanish – which makes it the biggest challenge. Enjoy yourselves, of course … that’s what this kind of work is all about …’

They beamed at him.

‘But don’t take it lightly. We’re not playing games any more.’

‘That’s okay,’ Alyssa said. ‘One thing we definitely won’t be doing, Dad, is playing.’

In truth, Martin Torgau was not one hundred per cent certain that his daughters were ready for this. As he stood on the landing outside his study and listened to their preparation downstairs, he mulled over several concerns.

He had no doubt that they were physically very fit and strong, and highly skilled with weapons and in hand-to-hand combat. All of this he had seen to personally over many years. They were also committed to the cause. He’d raised them in the family tradition; they knew no other way and were eager to commence their new, high-paying careers.

But were they possibly too eager?

Alyssa in particular was very excitable and sometimes overconfident, as the incident with the Cunningham woman had proved.

Torgau had made it a prerequisite of their training that they successfully complete at least one highly challenging assignment, ‘Category A’ as he termed them, before he’d allow them to take on an actual contract. Though well planned and, for the most part, well executed, and though ultimately the target had been disposed of, the Cunningham hit had nearly gone so catastrophically wrong that it could easily have blown the roof off everything. He’d had no option but to classify it a fail. They’d made up for it since then, admittedly, with the hit at the gymnasium. It had been an on-the-spot thing, Ivana literally taking a chance that came at her out of nowhere, and from the photographic evidence he’d seen and the written report his daughters had given him, it had gone smoothly. He particularly liked it that the so-called meathead was apparently suspected by regulars at the gym of acquiring and selling illegal steroids. So there’d be plenty of blind alleys for the police to follow.

It sounded like a bang-up job, but it still bothered Torgau a little that he hadn’t been there to see it for himself.

Up until now, he’d nearly always gone out with them. Mainly as an observer, but also, if required, to provide back-up. He’d go out with them again tonight – to watch and, if necessary, to intervene. But was the fact that they wanted to do it tonight, so soon after the package had arrived, a little worrying in itself?

Was it another indication of over-enthusiasm?