Frank Piper voiced the concerns of all of them when he said, ‘After what’s happened to Fuller and the others we’re all worried, boss. The bastards are really gonna put the squeeze on us.’

Slack leaned forward, elbows on the table, and a spark of irritation flashed in his eyes.

‘There’s no need to get your bollocks in a twist, Frank,’ he said. ‘We’ve known for a while that this was coming and we’ve already put some measures in place to protect ourselves. You guys just have to keep your nerve and avoid making any stupid mistakes.’

He wasn’t going to tell Piper and the others what he planned to do and why. It’d serve no useful purpose. Unlike Danny they wouldn’t understand and they couldn’t be trusted not to turn against him when the killings began and the pressure really stacked up.

He didn’t care if they refused to believe that he wasn’t responsible. All he cared about now was using this opportunity to go out with a bang, and to punish the Old Bill for what they had done to him.

It was why he was willing to shell out three million dollars to a Mexican drugs baron in order to get the job done.

Throughout his life he’d been in conflict with the police. He blamed them for what happened to his Julie and the last straw came when they killed Terry Malone.

It was the reason he hated them with every fibre of his being. And why he wanted to settle the score before it was too late.

Slack did not like having to lie to his crew, but he felt he had to. If he told them the truth then they’d go into panic mode and start deserting the firm like it was a sinking ship.

In time that wouldn’t matter, but he didn’t want to give the Old Bill the satisfaction of seeing his empire fall apart too early in the game.

Danny Carver played his part in reassuring the others that the firm would be able to weather the storm that was coming. He put on an act that was worthy of an Oscar, inspired in part by the £500k that had been transferred earlier into his offshore bank account, and the promise that another £500k would be sent in a week’s time.

Danny was a realist, after all. He could see that events had conspired to bring about the end of an era.

Slack had filled him in on the conversation he’d had last night with Carlos Cruz and the information he had subsequently gleaned through Google about the Mexican contract killer nicknamed ‘The Slayer’.

‘Seems like she’s the stuff of legend, Danny,’ he’d said. ‘The media are not even sure she really exists.’