The captain of the Angelo – a tall figure in a smart uniform, a cap on his head – led two men down the gangway. In the dark it was hard to make out their faces, but Holm was sure one had a full beard. They stood on the quayside and raised voices drifted in the night air. Broken English from the captain. He gestured first to one side and then the other. A shrug which said there was nothing he could do. Holm caught snippets of the conversation. There’d been a change of plan, the captain announced. Many police. Helicopters. Way too risky. The meeting was off. They’d proceed directly to the UK.

The two men stepped away from the captain and conferred for a moment before following him along the dock to where a shadow stood beneath one of the floodlights, a cigarette in his hand.

‘That’s Kowlowski,’ Javed said. ‘The truck driver.’

‘Just so,’ Holm said.

As they approached Kowlowski, the truck driver stuck out a hand and greeted the captain. He nodded towards the two men. As one of the men turned, the light from overhead swept his face.

‘Christ,’ Holm said. ‘That’s Latif. The guy from the cafe attack in Tunisia.’

‘Mohid Latif? Are you sure?’

‘Yes, of course I’m bloody sure.’

Kowlowski gestured to his lorry. The vehicle sat by a vast warehouse and it was hard to discern what was going on, but Holm heard the scrape of metal on metal.

‘They getting into the container,’ Javed said. ‘You were right. How did you know?’

‘A hunch, lad.’ Holm turned to Javed and winked. ‘And if we’d been in a restaurant eating gelato we’ve never have seen this.’

‘Are we going to stop them?’

‘On what grounds and by what authority? We have no jurisdiction here and no evidence either.’

‘So what the hell are we going to do?’

Holm nodded at the dashboard and tapped the steering wheel. ‘Drive,’ he said.

In the shadows the door of the car clicked open and a figure got out. No glamour this time, no friendly greeting. Just jeans and a jogging top and an angry glare. Lona walked across and stood by the passenger door to the van.

‘What the fuck happened?’ Lona said. ‘You’re supposed to be one of the best shots in the world.’

‘Is the woman badly hurt?’

‘Yes. As I understand it she’s in a hospital in Naples. Haddad is sending a team of doctors from Saudi. The bullet hit her in the chest close to her heart. It’s touch and go.’

‘And the boy? Is he all right?’

‘What boy?’

‘Brandon’s son.’

‘Oh, him. He’s fine,’ Lona said dismissively. ‘You, on the other hand, you’re in some serious—’

‘It wasn’t Rebecca’s fault,’ Gavin said. Despite his size and muscles he tensed as Lona turned to him. ‘I pulled the trigger. I shot Lashirah.’