Darko Krasic sat behind the wheel of the Mercedes smoking a cigar. He didn’t want to think about what was happening three floors up. He hadn’t believed a word of that stupid tale that Hill had tried to fob them off with. But Tadeusz had it bad for the woman, bad enough to clutch at a straw that thin. If it had been up to him, they would have finished Hill off in Koblenz and left him to rot on the barge. Because if he was right and Carol Jordan was a cop, they were finished, and instead of fucking around they should be activating their long-established escape plans.

After he’d dropped Tadeusz off at the apartment, he’d driven Tony to a small industrial unit they occasionally used for temporary storage. He’d driven the car right inside, then dragged the tarpaulin-wrapped bundle out of the boot and dumped it on the floor. He hadn’t even bothered to check if he was alive. Krasic couldn’t have cared less.

When he got back behind the wheel, he’d been tempted to cut and run. But loyalty had overcome his primal instincts and he’d driven back to collect Tadeusz as they’d arranged. Still, he couldn’t help thinking he was acting like a fool. He tapped the cigar against the open window glass and glanced at the dashboard clock. They were cutting it fine. If Tadeusz was going to be live on air in three-quarters of an hour, he’d better get a move on.

He really didn’t want to think about what was taking so much time.

At last, the door of the apartment block opened and Tadeusz emerged, his coat flapping around him as he hurried to the car. He flung open the door and jumped in. The smell of sweat and sex penetrated even the fug of Krasic’s cigar, and the Serb’s heart sank as he put the car in gear. ‘What happened?’ he asked, his heart sinking at the thought that the bitch had managed to pull the wool over his boss’s eyes.

‘She’s a cop,’ Tadeusz said. A jittery energy seemed to flow from him, filling the car with restless, pent-up edginess.

‘We’re fucked, then?’

He gave a harsh laugh. ‘Well, somebody is.’ He rubbed his eyes with his knuckles. ‘Yes, Darko, basically, we’re fucked.’

‘So we’re getting out, yeah?’

‘Yes. Tonight. As soon as I’ve done what I have to do. We’ll go to the TV station, I’ll do my piece to camera, then we have to finish our business with Dr Hill. And then we pull out. We’ll be in Belgrade for lunch.’

Krasic frowned. He didn’t like this. In his experience, when things needed to be done, you cracked on and did them. You didn’t piss about with the frills. ‘Why don’t we go now?’