‘And we’re not going to take a chance on losing you.’

The words were still hanging between them, when the door was pushed open. Perry Collinson had already let himself in. He glanced over at Porter, an attempted smile creasing up his lips. ‘Let him go,’ he said quietly.

Layla glared at him angrily. ‘We’ll need to check with Sir Angus.’

Collinson shook his head. ‘He can take my car, it’s got a permanent police escort.’

‘Who running this operation?’ said Layla.

‘Actually, my dear, I think you’ll find I am,’ said Collinson. ‘The personal appointment of the PM, if I need to remind you.’ He looked towards Porter. ‘I’ve spoken to the PM about you, and he’s bloody pleased you’ve come on board. Only bit of good news he’s had so far on this whole bloody Katie Dartmouth saga.’

‘If it was up to you, I’d be sleeping out on the streets tonight,’ growled Porter.

‘The last time I saw you, you were getting your fingers blown off,’ snapped Collinson. ‘And letting the enemy live because you felt sorry for the little buggers.’

Porter stood up. He could feel his head spinning, and had to put his hand down on the table to steady himself. ‘And the last time I saw you, you were puking up because the sound of gunfire had you rattled.’

For a moment, Collinson stiffened. His face went white, and his lips were pursed together. Then he suddenly relaxed. Another grin creased up his face. ‘Let’s just bury the hatchet, shall we?’ he said. ‘We’re all working together on this one. You wouldn’t have been my first choice, but now you are on the team, I’m bloody glad we’re working together.’

He patted him on the shoulder, but Porter instinctively recoiled from his touch.

‘My car’s outside, so take it and go and say goodbye to your girl,’ he said.

‘Sir Angus will –’ Layla started to say.

‘Will listen to me,’ said Collinson. ‘And if he doesn’t I’ll just have to get the PM on the phone.’

‘Thanks,’ said Porter tersely.

He headed for the door and left the room. As he reached the lift, he could see Layla walking along the corridor behind him. She followed him down to the foyer, then walked out of the building and started talking to the driver in the waiting Jaguar. ‘Don’t be more than an hour,’ she said, looking up sharply at Porter. ‘If you’re not back here by eight thirty, then the police will bring you back. You need your rest. That understood?’

Porter nodded, climbing into the back of the car, and telling the driver to take him straight to St Pancras. ‘Understood,’ he said. ‘I came in and volunteered, remember. I’m not about to bugger off now.’

EIGHT

The cream leather upholstery of the Jaguar felt luxuriously comfortable as Porter sat back into it. He was wearing the charcoal-grey suit they’d left for him in his room, and he was surprised by how well it fitted. The shoes were comfortable, and even the tie wasn’t pinching his neck too badly. Last time I wore one of these, I was being turned down for a nightguard job at a Tesco depot, Porter reflected. Maybe I just didn’t know the right people.