A few minutes later there was movement on the terrace and Silva looked through the scope again. A tall woman wearing a pale dress breezed into view. High cheekbones, glossy brown hair, nods to the other guests as they parted to let her through.

‘Panic over,’ Gavin said. ‘She’s here.’

Chapter Twenty-One

They drove through Switzerland and into Italy. Long periods of mind-numbing tedium spent tailing the lorry were interspersed with brief moments of anxiety whenever Kowlowski stopped for a break; Holm and Javed had to do their own ablutions in those breaks, aware Kowlowski could move on at any moment.

They passed Florence, still headed south, and as night fell they were on the outskirts of Naples.

‘It figures,’ Holm said. ‘This is the perfect place to pick up a couple of terrorists who’ve made the crossing from North Africa. There are ISIS training camps aplenty over there.’

‘Yes, but why don’t they rendezvous with the container in the Netherlands?’ Javed shook his head. ‘All Kowlowski has to do is stop in a lay-by somewhere outside Rotterdam and meet them there. They don’t need all this subterfuge.’

Holm took his eyes off the road for a moment and looked at Javed. He hoped the lad wasn’t right because if he was they’d just driven over a thousand miles for nothing.

‘Look, boss.’ Javed pointed ahead. ‘We’re here.’

The indicator lights on the truck flashed yellow and a sign above the motorway showed the route to the port off to the right. Holm merged onto the exit slip, keeping a few vehicles between their own and the truck.

Twenty minutes later the truck rolled into the port. Kowlowski stopped at a barrier, produced his papers and was let through.

‘We could show them our ID,’ Javed said. ‘Stress the need to cooperate across borders.’

‘We could,’ Holm said. ‘But we won’t. I don’t trust the Italians.’

‘Cosa Nostra and all that?’

‘Whether or not the Mafia have their dirty fingers round the neck of the port authorities or not is irrelevant. I simply I don’t want anyone to know we’re here.’ Holm pointed at Javed’s phone. ‘Now stop wittering and make sure we don’t lose him.’

After half an hour of negotiating some ill-lit and very dodgy backstreets, they managed to park outside the port but alongside a fence close to a quay. The truck had pulled up on the quayside beneath a set of floodlights and they watched as a forklift unloaded a number of crates from the container.

‘Volvo Penta,’ Javed said, lowering a pair of binoculars from his eyes. ‘Marine engine parts, like the guy said.’

‘A cover story, you’ll see.’

‘You mean there’s something else in those crates?’

‘No. They probably do contain engine spares. It’s what’s coming back to the UK we’re interested in, remember?’