The phone went dead and Taher moved to the window and considered the problem he’d just been handed. Looking out over the city was always his first action when it came to making decisions. Up here above everything there was a clarity missing at ground level. The hustle and bustle and anarchy were replaced by silence. Chaos turned into serenity.

He thought of the violence he’d committed or helped orchestrate. Explosions, bullets ripping into flesh, vehicles ploughing into crowds. He understood the damage he’d caused and the scars he’d left behind – both physical and emotional – but that was the idea. Only by giving these people something they couldn’t forget would they begin to remember they only had themselves to blame.

Neil Milligan. Case in point. The journalist only had himself to blame for what was going to happen to him. He was a niggle in the grand scheme of things, but at the moment he’d become the most important item on Taher’s busy agenda.

He turned from the window, turned from the peace and quiet.

An unfortunate coincidence.

He nodded to himself. Yes, that’s exactly what people would say.

Kowlowski didn’t appear to be in a rush to get back to Rotterdam and the journey took a couple of days. Holm and Javed at first followed behind the truck, stopping whenever the Pole stopped, but after the destination seemed obvious they overtook the lorry and headed north as fast as possible, Holm reasoning they needed to get to Rotterdam first.

‘What if you’re wrong?’ Javed said. ‘What if they stop off en route?’

‘They won’t.’ Holm turned his head. The truck was somewhere back there, miles behind them. ‘The captain of the Angelo mentioned the UK, didn’t he? Plus we know the container keeps appearing on the manifests, and if Latif and his mate wanted to go somewhere in mainland Europe they could have done it in a car.’

They reached Rotterdam early on the second morning. The app on Javed’s phone showed the truck hadn’t reached Germany so Holm took an executive decision.

‘We’ll get a room somewhere.’ He ran his fingers through his hair. It was greasy and he could smell his own body odour. Always a bad sign. ‘We need a wash and a bed and some proper sleep.’

‘A room? A bed?’ Javed smirked. ‘Didn’t know you cared, boss.’

‘Two single beds. We’ll clean ourselves up and get our heads down. We should be able to manage a few hours’ kip before the lorry turns up.’

They found a cheap hotel on the outskirts of Rotterdam. The receptionist looked at them a little oddly. Two men wanting a room on the spur of the moment at nine in the morning. Holm mentioned they were British police officers on a case.

‘What was that about?’ Javed said.

‘She thought we were… well… you know? I think I put her straight.’