‘Straight? I doubt it, boss.’

Holm ignored Javed. He was too tired to care what the hell the receptionist thought. He needed to sleep.

In the room Holm was pleased to see the single beds were a good distance apart. He dumped his bag in the corner, kicked off his shoes and lay down on one of the beds. The last thing he remembered was asking Javed to set an alarm and the first thing he saw when he woke was the young man leaning close.

‘What the fuck?’ Holm put up his hands. ‘Get off!’

‘It’s five p.m., boss.’ Javed stood. ‘I’ve showered and had something to eat at the cafe next door.’

‘The truck…?’ Holm sat up and rubbed his eyes. ‘We haven’t missed it?’

‘Kowlowski’s just crossed the border into the Netherlands. He’ll be a couple of hours yet.’

‘When does the Excelsior depart?’

‘It’s sails this evening. They’ll start loading shortly.’

‘Good.’ Holm swung his legs off the bed but paused before standing. ‘We need flights to the UK. We need to be there before the ship arrives back in Felixstowe.’

Holm had a shower, grabbed something to eat at the cafe and then they made for the port.

Kowlowski arrived about an hour later. The Pole swung the truck in and coasted down to where containers were already being plucked from the dockside by huge cranes. Holm got out of their car and went across to the customs building.

‘You again.’ It was the same officer as before. He nodded over to a small Portakabin. ‘The toilets are over there. If you can be bothered.’

As they left the officer was speaking to a colleague and laughing, an accusing finger pointing at Javed. The story of the urinating Englishman had obviously done the rounds.

‘God knows what kind of reputation British intelligence is getting thanks to you.’ Holm shook his head. ‘Come on.’

They sauntered along the dockside down a narrow corridor of containers, trying to look like a couple of jobsworths.

‘We’re not really interested, right?’ Holm pulled the collar of his coat up against a wind that was funnelling between the stacks of containers. ‘The last thing we want to do is make ourselves any more work. We just want to tick the boxes and get on home to a cool beer and a warm woman.’

‘I might remind you that I don’t like either of those things.’

‘There. Kowlowski’s done.’ Holm glanced sideways while pretending to inspect the doors of a nearby container. At the end of the row the crane grabber had positioned itself over Kowlowski’s truck. The arms lowered and clamped themselves in place. The container soared upwards and outwards in a manoeuvre Holm found strangely balletic. ‘The stowaways are on board. Let’s go back to the hotel and book some flights from Schiphol for early tomorrow morning. With luck we’ll be in Felixstowe for breakfast.’