Wolf had watched from his hiding place as the Rover’s doors opened and out spilled the target’s ex-wife in a red dress, their two young children and a twenty-something brunette that he assumed was the kids’ nanny. Wolf’s mission file contained details on the former Mrs Abbott (number three, the trophy, the most painful marital misstep of the fifty-eight-year-old politician’s career) and the two kids: little Emily, four, and her brother Paul, seven. Since the acrimonious split they now lived twenty miles the other side of Brighton, in a large house provided by the generous divorce settlement and alimony payments that Debbie enjoyed spending on expensive trips abroad. Her lifestyle habits, such as the recent fling with the ski instructor in Zermatt, were well known to Wolf’s employers; but none of the clever-dick analysts who provided the background intel had managed to foresee that she’d show up here today to mess up their plans. Typical.

Anthony Abbott emerged from his front door to meet his visitors, his silvery hair uncombed, casually attired in beige slacks and a cricket jumper. To shrill cries of ‘Daddy! Daddy!’ the kids rushed up and hugged their father. Wolf had a zoom telephoto lens attached to his phone, through which he could see that Abbott was as nonplussed as he was by old Debbie turning up like this. Judging by their facial expressions and stiff body language, relations between the couple were still frosty. Abbott appeared impatient for her to leave and kept glancing at his watch, as though he’d been disturbed in the middle of something important he was anxious to return to. If only he knew, Wolf thought, what her unexpected arrival had saved him from. Even if it was just a temporary stay of execution.

She didn’t hang around for long. Eleven minutes later, the Range Rover departed and Wolf watched it disappear up the quiet country lane. He was pleased to see her go, but now he had another problem: it appeared that the purpose of her visit was to dump the kids and nanny on her ex. Wolf wondered whether her intention was to liberate herself for another romantic trip to Zermatt or elsewhere, or whether she wanted to have the house to herself for a tryst at home with another of her numerous beaux. Whatever the case, the unexpected turn of events screwed things up for him. His mission remit was to make this look like a burglary gone bad, taking advantage of the fact that Abbott’s financial fortunes had downturned to the extent that he could no longer afford the private protection team that a man of his importance should ideally have had watching over him. Nicely convenient. Wolf was a skilled assassin who had no problem with carrying out a quick, clean murder dressed up as an amateur job.