Milton followed the navigation on his phone until he arrived at the building, turning off the street and rolling carefully down the ramp into the garage. He found the spaces that came with the apartments, reversed into one of them and switched off the engine. He opened the door and got out, stretching his arms and rolling the kinks out of his shoulders. It had already been a long day.

He looked around, satisfying himself that the garage was empty, and then took out the screwdrivers from the glovebox and used one of them to unfasten the centre console. He lifted out the cupholder, reached into the void beneath and took out the packet of cocaine. He dropped it into his rucksack, put the console back together and locked the car.

He made his way to the lifts. They had work to do.

* * *

Ziggy had rented two Airbnbs in the block, one next to the other. Each featured a single bedroom, a living area with a sofa-bed, and a kitchen. Milton knocked on the door of flat 212 and waited until he heard the sound of approaching footsteps.

Ziggy opened the door. “All okay?”

“All fine,” Milton said.

Ziggy stepped back and Milton made his way inside. The apartment wasn’t nearly as luxurious as the place in Amsterdam, but he was fine with that. These units were nothing more than places to sleep, plan, and house their gear.

Ziggy led the way into the sitting room. Hicks and Chase were there, too.

“All right?” Hicks said.

“It went well,” Milton said. “I wasn’t stopped.”

“You just drove straight through?” Chase said.

“I must have a trustworthy face,” Milton said.

Ziggy cleared his throat. “Excuse me?”

Milton smiled. “Ziggy worked a little of his magic.”

“‘A little of his magic,’” Ziggy grumbled. “That was a work of art. They’re still down now.”

Milton ignored his customary plea for recognition and sat down at the small dining table. “Update me.”

The four of them ran through the preparations that had been made. Hicks had been allocated the task of rounding up transportation. He had purchased a second-hand Ford Galaxy from a lot in the north of the city, paying in cash and using fake ID to ensure that the vehicle could not be traced back to them. Chase had collected the things that Milton thought they might need. Ziggy had continued his research into Anthony Jackson.

“What have you got?” Milton asked him.

“I already had a lot,” he said. “Did you read the dossier?”

“I did. It was good. What else?”

“His phone,” he said. “I used a backdoor into Facebook to get his date of birth and his mother’s maiden name. We own it now. He went out last night to his usual club. Looks like he had an interlude with a couple of women after hours. I have photos and videos. Very salacious.”

“What else?”