Rescue came in the unlikely form of a BMW roadster roaring up the ramp from the underground garage. Carol limped across the pavement and gingerly lowered herself into the passenger seat. ‘I don’t know the way,’ she said, feeling herself on the point of tears yet again.

Marijke smiled. ‘I do. I asked the car park man. It’s very near, he says. Just a couple of minutes away.’

Carol looked at her watch. ‘We’re going to be too late. The programme finished ten minutes ago.’

‘Well, we better hurry.’ Marijke put her foot down and the car leapt forward.

The car park attendant had been right. The studio was only a few streets away. ‘I bet we’ve missed him,’ Carol said morosely as they parked twenty yards away from the gate.

‘I don’t think so,’ Marijke said. ‘Two of the cars we passed on the way in had a driver sitting inside. And a passenger too, I think.’

Carol closed her eyes and let herself believe. ‘The tag team. Thank you, Petra.’

They hadn’t had long to wait. And now they were part of the convoy that might, just might save Tony’s life.

They had been driving for about twenty minutes, doing exactly what they were supposed to. Every few minutes, the lead vehicle in the tail would turn off down a side street then double back and pick up the rear, leaving a fresh set of headlights in Krasic’s mirror. Petra had no idea where they were headed. The one good thing was that they clearly weren’t making for Radecki’s apartment. That had to increase the chances that they were going to wherever Tony was being held captive.

They’d headed out east along Karl Marx Allee, and now they were on the fringes of Lichtenberg. Petra was second in line, behind the SUV. Suddenly, the Mercedes swung right into a small industrial estate near the railway marshalling yards. The SUV carried straight on, and Petra switched off her lights before she made the turn. She hung well back, keeping the Merc’s tail lights in view. The brake lights burned bright for a moment, then it went dark. Petra turned off her ignition, fearing they might notice her engine, and coasted to a halt. She could see the outline of The Shark’s car in her rear-view mirror, black against the outline of a warehouse. Petra switched off the interior light and got out of the car, avoiding the reflex of slamming it shut. She palmed her Walther and dropped her bag into the driver’s footwell.