The journey here too had been similar. He remembered entering the black van parked this time at the back of the building, the bag over the head, then the blow.

After that nothing, until now.

The last time he’d imagined Cleverly might be here, and in his drugged state had called his name, having it bounce back at him. Not something he planned to do again.

The scent of blood was fresh. The stink of warm urine even fresher. Someone had pissed nearby and recently. And – McNab quickly checked his groin – this time it hadn’t been him.

He got onto his knees and attempted to follow that scent.

The body wasn’t far away. In fact, in the thick darkness, he almost fell over it. But was it warm? McNab reached down, searching for the head, the face, the neck . . . and pressed, seeking a pulse.

His own heartbeat was too loud to be sure of what he felt under his fingers, until he heard the groan, weak but definitely there.

‘It’s me, the Jock pig,’ he said, still not sure who he was touching.

There was a sound that might have been a laugh. Then, ‘Fuck’s sake. How often do you have to be told to fuck off home?’

‘I came to tell you to get out before they saw Ava’s report.’

The Kommandant began to drag himself up to a sitting position. ‘Too late, I’m afraid.’

McNab felt the warmth of escaping blood against his knees. Running his hands over the man’s body, McNab found the origin. The open wound was at the guy’s waist and the blood was seeping rather than pumping out, but without help, soon he would likely be dead.

McNab removed his jacket and, taking off his shirt, rolled it into a tight fist and pressed it into the wound. Now to hold it there, without his hand.

Taking off his belt, he slipped it round the body, pulling it tight. He couldn’t be sure, but after a few minutes he thought – or maybe just hoped – the flow of blood had lessened.

‘Right,’ McNab said. ‘Who are you, really?’

‘Since we’re about to die, I might as well tell you. Name’s Jack Winters and—’

‘You’re a Serious Crime Squad plant?’

‘Yes.’

‘And Cleverly?’ McNab said.

‘The Met were ordered to keep schtum, in view of the undercover operation. The Orlova hitting Orkney fucked everything up, that and the Glasgow fire. Cleverly’s visit north was supposed to ease things. It clearly didn’t because you appeared at the bare-knuckle fight.’

‘It was your face looking down on me to check if I was still alive?’ McNab said.

Now he knew why the Kommandant had seemed vaguely familiar.

‘I told Hugo you were a goner to get him out of there. Then you bloody turned up down here. Just about blew my cover.’

‘So there isn’t a cover-up?’ McNab said.