Also the most discreet. Which it needed to be, considering the nature of some of the items he kept in his personal vault. Those included a fully-automatic Heckler & Koch G3 battle rifle and an Uzi submachine gun – which he wouldn’t be bringing with him. It also included his cash savings fund of quarter of a million pounds, half of it in euro currency, and a collection of driving licences and passports in a variety of names – which he would. Some of the fake papers were ones that had been provided to him by his employers, but Wolf had taken the precaution of creating two additional false identities that nobody knew about. Neither Jack Cullen nor Douglas Baker would trigger any alert via passport control, and they were free to flit about the world as they pleased. Wolf decided that, for the time being at least, he would travel as Jack Cullen.

The money was packed in a black holdall. It was heavy, but manageable. He transferred the contents of his go-bag apart from the pistol, which he’d have to leave behind along with the one in his belt. Wolf locked up his vault, checked out of the facility for what he knew would be the last time and walked back out into the night. Now he was ready to leave Britain and never return. It didn’t bother him a bit. There was nothing here for him any longer. And he knew exactly where he was headed.

In a back alley a mile away from the security facility, Wolf bade a formal goodbye to his old self. He watched as the passport and driving licence in his real name, along with all his cards and other ID, burned away into a small pile of ashes and molten plastic. He walked for a long time through the night streets of London. The killers would no doubt have reached his apartment by now. Finding it empty, they’d soon be hunting city-wide for him. He was a step ahead. He meant to keep it that way.

A few hours later, a lone traveller by the name of Jack Cullen arrived at Heathrow Airport where he boarded a flight to Luxembourg, carrying a black holdall with him as hand luggage. One hour and seventeen minutes after takeoff, he was moving on once more, satisfied that he was leaving no trail that anyone could follow. He would soon be completely home free. That thought made him feel strangely liberated, almost happy. This was the first day of a new life for him. One that he had often dreamed of and should have begun a long time ago – but he’d never had the courage to take the step. In the most bizarre and terrible way, last night’s events at Karswell Hall had been the catalyst to set him free.