‘Copy that. I’m booked into an airport hotel. I’ll catch a taxi there later.’

McNab wondered when all this had been decided, seeing as he’d been with Cleverly since he’d picked him up at the airport. Maybe he’d never intended flying back tonight?

The last person he wanted to spend time with this evening was Cleverly, but maybe, just maybe, if they had a drink together he might glean a little more information from him. Or vice versa, a wee voice reminded him.

The area around George Square was busy with folk coming back from work or heading out on the town.

‘The place hasn’t changed much,’ Cleverly said as they walked through the square, having ditched the car.

‘You’ve been to Glasgow before?’ McNab said, surprised.

‘Had a Scottish girlfriend for a while. She had a flat in the West End, near the university. I liked coming here. Then she decided she didn’t like me any more.’

‘It happens,’ McNab offered in solidarity.

As McNab led him up the stairs and into the chosen bar, Cleverly took an appreciative look around. ‘Very nice. Hope it’s not just fancy cocktails they serve?’

‘Also good beer and fine whisky,’ McNab assured him.

‘So, we start with a beer, eat, then move on to your whisky recommendation?’ Cleverly suggested.

‘Okay by me,’ McNab said.

After a pizza each with the beer, they did move on to whisky. They hadn’t talked shop during the meal, Cleverly just reminiscing about his trips to Glasgow.

‘Sadly,’ McNab said, ‘I don’t have fond memories of my last time in London.’

They eyed one another.

It had to be said, McNab thought.

‘How’s the bullet wound?’ Cleverly said.

‘I got it tattooed,’ McNab told him.

‘Really?’

‘Covered it with a skull.’

Cleverly raised an eyebrow. ‘Impressive. Plus you made the Kalinin trial alive.’

The Russian, Kalinin, who’d ordered him shot in front of a pregnant Chrissy, had believed him dead. As had Chrissy and Rhona. Jesus, they’d even buried what they thought was him. McNab wasn’t proud of that part of the story, although he hadn’t had any choice in the matter. Eventually he’d risen from his fake death to become the prime witness in the Russian’s trial.

As for Cleverly’s poorly played role as his minder . . .

‘Only because I bailed out of the not-so-safe house and came home,’ he reminded him.

Cleverly nodded. ‘Fair comment.’

The semi-admission of guilt, although he’d been looking for it, still surprised McNab.

‘All in the past,’ he heard himself say. ‘So what’s the real story about your visit?’

Cleverly thought for a moment, then shrugged. ‘Just trying to establish if the victim’s a Londoner or not.’

McNab didn’t believe him, and said so. ‘You and the Met are fucking us around. What’s this really about?’