In the mirrored cupboard, he found a zipped toiletries kit, containing everything for the man on the move. He tossed that into the case too, and then hovered, trying to ensure there was nothing else he’d missed. McCracken already had his wallet and his laptop, and any data files he might need on the pen-drive he always kept on his person. Shallicker then remembered the other thing – in some ways, it was the most important item of all. He could have slapped himself on the head. Hunkering down alongside McCracken’s four-poster bed, he pulled out a drawer. Inside it, there was a shoebox, and inside the shoebox a Walther P22, with six full magazines. Shallicker threw those into the case as well, compressed everything down and tugged the zip closed.

He glanced at his watch. It was now after eight. What daylight remained was diminishing fast. He descended the staircase, humping the heavy bag alongside him. At the bottom, he stopped to think one final time, dying sunlight lying in crimson stripes across the whole of the downstairs. It would be dark by the time he hit the M60, which while it didn’t give him any kind of decisive advantage, would be more useful to him than broad daylight.

He left the house the same way he’d come in, reactivating the alarm and then closing and locking the side-door behind him. As he walked down the drive, Yellowbrook Close still looked deserted. He retreated backward through the pedestrian gate, pushing the suitcase onto the pavement with his foot, while turning and using both hands to ensure that the gate closed and locked behind him.

‘Going on holiday, Mick?’ someone asked.

Shallicker twirled around and found Benny B a couple of yards away, with three of his black-suited goons at his back. Further movement drew his attention down to the end of the street, where two of the Crew’s security chief’s trademark black Audi A6s trundled into view.

Shallicker shrugged. ‘Getting Frank a change of togs. He’s been discharged.’

‘Already?’ Benny B wasn’t clever enough to affect mock-surprise. He sounded genuinely surprised, but two of the trio behind him were visibly wielding handguns inside their jacket pockets, while the other one wore a raincoat over his shoulders, mainly to screen the Uzi submachine gun he was carrying. So Shallicker had no doubt that this wasn’t a courtesy call.

‘Frank’s walking around,’ he ventured. ‘No point him staying in hospital.’

‘Well … he’s certainly walking around,’ Benny B agreed, the two Audis now gliding into place and braking, blocking the Bentley in. ‘That much is truthful. That’s why he discharged himself earlier on. So, where you really going, Mick? And where you taking that gear?’

‘Look, Ben … I just do what I’m told.’

‘Don’t we all?’ Benny nodded towards the nearest Audi, the front passenger door to which had clunked open. ‘After you, pal.’