Alison had identified a dozen cameras on likely routes and her source had confirmed White’s transport as whitevan reg LDO9smthing.

Osmaili was the keenest pair of eyes in the business, so Julian passed her the information. It felt like an unforgivable breach of good tradecraft, but so was getting Kay Amal Khan killed. Alison was on her phone now, getting brief, punctuated texts from her source as he jolted about in the back of White’s van. She’d tried Khan’s number, but the physicist wasn’t picking up.

Osmaili had her own phone camera turned towards her screens, giving Julian the best view of what she was looking at.

“Remarkably obliging, this chap of yours,” Julian observed to Alison as they watched Osmaili monitor the routes to Khan’s flat. He pictured the administrator lounging in her office chair, squinting at the screens and glancing over her shoulder in case her supervisor was near.

Alison’s silence told him she’d been hiding things and felt guilty about it. “I’ve been cultivating him,” she said. “He’s a thug called Cleary. Been in with people like White most of his life, his family included. Claimed a change of heart.” She was leaning over Julian’s shoulder intently, her hair pricking his cheek.

“Found God?”

“Half of these guys already have God. But he beat someone half to death last year. Like an initiation…” Her lips moved as she read the newest text. “Didn’t sit well with him. Tried to turn himself in, and someone got him hooked up with us.”

Then Naia Osmaili was in Julian’s ear in a hoarse whisper that suggested her boss was doing the rounds. “There! White van there! Is that it?”

He squinted: white van, yes; the registration was hidden by the tailgating hatchback behind. However, it was driving carefully, letting other vehicles pull out ahead of it, the way people in London so seldom did. Almost as if the driver really didn’t want to be pulled over.

He conferred with Osmaili again. The camera view obligingly skipped two junctions down the road and they watched the van amble up and indicate. As it turned, Osmaili read off the plate. It matched the partial Alison’s source had given them. The cloud of possibilities collapsed into a single certainty. It might be a set-up. The source might be lying to see what we’ll do. This could even be a hoax, leading to us kicking down the door to scare the crap out of Khan. He had a single exchange of looks with Alison, knowing she was heading down all the same blind alleys. Her hand gripped his shoulder.

“You trust your source?” And then, even as she replied in the affirmative, he was thanking Osmaili and ringing off.