‘Marine parts?’ Holm scanned the documents, noting the container number at the top right, the driver’s name – Ivan Kowlowski – top left. He peered at the side of the container and checked the numbers matched; they did. ‘Good, good. All OK.’

Javed slipped towards the rear of the vehicle and disappeared. Ahead, the line of trucks had moved on and a space had opened up.

‘Come on. I got to get moving. Long way I drive.’ The driver glanced in his mirror. ‘What your man doing back there? He mustn’t get me into trouble.’ The driver was rising from his seat, swinging himself down from the cab. ‘I need to see.’

Holm followed the man towards the rear of the vehicle and turned at the end.

‘Where he go?’

‘Um…’ Holm tried to think of something to distract the driver, but he was already moving on round to the nearside. The driver cursed in his own tongue and then laughed.

Holm rounded the end of the truck. Steam billowed up around Javed as he stood urinating against the rear set of tyres.

He shook himself and zipped up his fly. ‘Sorry, boss. Had to go. You know how it is.’

The driver continued to laugh as he walked back round to the cab and hauled himself up. The port police officer waved him on and the lorry slipped forward, then stopped at a barrier where a number of vehicles were waiting at a set of traffic lights.

‘The toilets are one hundred metres away.’ The police officer frowned. ‘Are you finished?’

‘We’re done, thanks,’ Holm said while glaring at Javed. ‘You run a very efficient operation. I’ll be putting in a favourable report to my superiors. I think there’s a lot we can take from the way you structure things here.’

The officer turned and walked off. At the control building entrance he spoke to another officer, jerking his thumb back in the direction of Holm and Javed.

‘What the hell were you doing?’ Holm said. ‘You’re a disgrace. Pissing on that man’s truck.’

‘Boss?’ Javed looked hurt. ‘It was a diversion. He won’t remember me poking around the back of the vehicle, only the stupid little British guy with the weak bladder.’ Javed pulled out his phone, the screen a beacon of light in the darkness. Holm peered across. There was a map of the port of Rotterdam, a little icon in the dead centre of the screen. As the lorry moved through the traffic control and edged round towards the main road, the icon slid across the map. ‘And look, I’ve attached the phone so we can follow our truck wherever it goes, day or night, rain or shine, hell or high water.’

Chapter Twenty