‘I’ve tried, Sophie, I really have. But JTAC don’t see an elevated threat and I’ve not been able to persuade the commissioner. It’s too much of a leap from a vague hint. That’s the trouble with neo-Nazis. No sense of occasion. Just when we want a big statement, they go quiet.’

‘So what happens tomorrow?’

‘I’m with you that the risks of a second attack are significant, even if JTAC and the grown-ups don’t agree. But my hands are tied. We put a strong counter terrorism team around it and I want you to lead it. Security’s already tight, but it’s a tinderbox. Get a couple of experienced officers at the UK First counterprotest and I need you in the middle of the action. Run the ops room out of CTOC. If anything kicks off, you can step in. I’ll be at Gold Command.’

Tennant’s phone buzzed. He mouthed an apology to Gabriel and let her walk away.

#

Pall Mall, London

At 10.30pm, two men walked out of the rain and into the fluorescent-lit lobby of the A-Line hotel in Pall Mall. Doug Glenister was short and stocky, dressed in a grey bomber jacket with a damp baseball hat yanked over his head. Rod Houghton was taller, dressed in baggy jeans and a green hoodie with a holdall over one shoulder. Houghton carried, rather than rolled along, a hard-plastic wheeled suitcase which left tramlines of water on the polished floor.

Glenister glanced at his companion and then at the CCTV camera in the ceiling before walking to the coffee bar. His companion stood back in the darkest corner, his back against a wall plastered with posters of London.

‘A reservation, for one night.’

‘Of course, sir,’ said the young woman. ‘Welcome to the A-Line hotel. We hope you have an amazing stay. Follow me, please.’

Phoney cow, he thought as she led him to one of the automated machines. His heart was pumping too fast. He slowed down his breathing.

‘Your name, sir, please?’

‘Frazer. Samuel Frazer,’ lied Glenister.

She leant over to tap his name into the screen.

‘There you go. I’ve got you a lovely room on the third floor, but it’s just got twin beds. Do you want to change it for a double? We can do that no problem.’ She glanced meaningfully at Houghton in the corner.

For fuck’s sake, Glenister thought, breathing hard to stay calm. ‘No.’ There was a hint of indignation and the woman looked flustered.

‘Sorry, sir, I just thought…’

‘You thought wrong.’

The receptionist worked on in silence. The machine deposited a key to room 312, which she took out and handed over.

#

The men kept silent until they were upstairs in the room. Glenister closed the door behind him, placed the suitcase carefully on the bed nearest the window and then, only then, he let out a breath that felt like it had been building inside him since they’d got off the bus twenty minutes earlier.

‘Fucking hell, Rod, did you hear what that bitch asked us? Thought we were queers.’