Which was all the information Creece and his men needed to know. As a rule, the Dishonourables had very scant regard for the police, and even less so for female ones. ‘She’s toast,’ Creece said.

Hacker nodded. ‘And then some. But the boss wants Hope to be taken alive. That’s going to be the hard part.’

‘Why alive?’

‘Because the boss reckons he knows where there’s a ton of gold bullion hidden.’

‘Is that a fact?’ Creece said with great interest. And from the sparkle in his eye, Hacker immediately knew that Creece was seeing an angle here. If Hacker had believed in the gold, he’d have been quick to see it too. Get Hope, grab the loot, and then maximise profits by cutting all ties – including Stuart.

‘One more thing,’ Hacker said. ‘Just a detail. But there’s a second guy involved. A burned-out old fart, used to be SAS too, about a billion years ago. If he’s still breathing, he’s either dug in somewhere or he and Hope have hooked up together.’

‘Doesn’t sound like a problem. The boss want him alive too?’

Hacker shook his head. ‘He’s target practice.’

‘Works for me,’ Creece said. ‘Okay, boys, time to go hunting. But first, time for a nice warm cuppa.’

For a second, Hacker thought he was having an auditory hallucination from the meth. ‘We’re on the clock here, Mikey.’

But Creece was adamant. ‘Sorry, pal. Nothing gets done without we have a cuppa. We’re cold and we ain’t had a bite to eat since this morning. Right, boys?’

‘Right,’ came the murmur of agreement from Phil Buckett and the others.

‘Whatever,’ Hacker said resignedly. ‘Follow me.’

He led them down to the castle kitchen, where the kettle was soon on the boil and ten mugs and enough biscuits to fatten the British Army were laid out on the steel worktop. ‘Nice gaff your boss’s got here,’ Creece commented. ‘Suit me down to the ground, this would.’

‘He’s rich.’

‘Lucky for some, eh?’ Creece slurped down his tea with gusto, smacked his lips and said, ‘Ahh. That hit the fuckin’ spot. Right, lads. Now let’s get to fuckin’ work.’

The AKs were quickly unpacked from the bags and distributed among the crew. The kitchen resonated with the clacking of metal on metal as, brisk and businesslike, they slapped in loaded magazines and cocked their weapons ready for action. With only one arm, Hacker couldn’t handle a rifle and would have to make do with his pistol.

Phil Buckett brandished his weapon with a psychotic grin plastered across his face. ‘Ready to rock’n’roll. This Hope prick might’ve got lucky so far but he ain’t got a chance against ten of—’

But Buckett’s last word was drowned out by the sudden massive explosion that rocked the building.

‘What the—?’