Pentecost shrugged, half-smiled again. ‘At this level of command, Frank, it’s the prudent ones you’ve got to be wary of. The sensible ones, the good advice-givers. Because blokes with brains are rarely content to be servants for long. Though I’m not sure that even your big brain is going to do you much good from now on. You having a copper for a daughter … who’d a’ thought it, eh? That’s the kind of problem that won’t be resolved simply by me disappearing, you know.’

‘That depends on the rest of the guys,’ McCracken said. ‘They’re all on their way here now. Some may already be here. We’ll need to see how they respond to the new, typed-out deal that Mick Shallicker will shortly be circulating among them.’

‘So … this is a complete change of management?’

‘Certainly is. And under the new administration, contributions to central funds will be far less onerous.’

Pentecost looked scornful. ‘You really think it’s that simple?’

‘We’re talking the likes of Benny B and Nick Merryweather, Bill … yes, it’ll be that simple.’

‘Just out of interest, how much?’

‘Prior to today, we each paid seventy-five per cent. You then raised it to eighty-five. I’m only looking for fifty.’

Pentecost snorted. ‘You enrich those cretins, Frank, and you empower them. They’ll end up building their own princedoms again. Suddenly, we’ll be back in a twelve-way war.’

‘Not we, Bill.’

There was a lengthy silence.

‘And that’s your final word?’ the Chairman said.

McCracken nodded.

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ Pentecost took the grip of the sawn-off double-barrelled shotgun that he always kept screwed to the underside of the boardroom table, swivelled it lengthways and pulled the trigger twice.

Nothing happened.

Until McCracken slapped his good hand on the table, leaving two cartridges there.

The men gazed at each other, faces graven in rock. Pentecost finally cracked another half-smile. This time he seemed genuinely amused. ‘I should have wondered why you were waiting in here alone after last Thursday’s meeting.’

‘Yes, you should.’ McCracken drew the Walther from inside his jacket. ‘Of all your recent errors, Bill – and there’ve been plenty – that was the worst.’

Outside in the lobby, Mick Shallicker waited. Some of the other underbosses were still to arrive, and those already here he’d ushered into the lounge. He was standing there alone when a single pistol-shot echoed from the boardroom.

A second passed, and then its door opened a few inches.

‘Mick,’ came Frank McCracken’s voice. ‘We need a clean-up crew. Meanwhile, start sending my fellow directors through to the office. One at a time.’

Chapter 47