Porter thought for a second. ‘I’ve not figured that part out yet. Let’s see what options Anderson gives us.’

Porter nodded with grim satisfaction soon after that. The roof of the Atlas warehouse poked over a treeline up ahead. There was only one car between them and Anderson now, so Porter decided to hang well back. He knew where to find him now if he lost sight of the Honda.

Anderson made the turning Porter knew he would, stopping for a few seconds at the barrier, its gate rising and falling like a clapperboard on a film set. Porter slowed to a crawl, pulling over to the kerb two hundred yards away. He reached over to the glove box and pulled out a small black pouch, ripping the Velcro flap open and taking out a compact set of binoculars.

‘Aren’t we the good cub scout?’ said Styles. ‘Been shopping?’

Porter grinned. ‘Army and Navy store. Ten of your finest English pounds. I figure your camera will still zoom in enough to make an identifying shot if we need it, but I can focus better with these.’

He was about to get out of the car when Styles put out a hand to stop him. A dark four-by-four had appeared at the far end of the road, indicator blinking, preparing to turn to face the Atlas barrier. Porter snapped the binoculars up to his eyes, massaging the focusing wheel with his middle finger, melting the blurriness away. Even at this distance, even with the driver blocking part of the view, Porter could make out the hulking shape of James Bolton in the passenger seat. A confusion of shapes flashed across the lenses, and Porter peered over the top to see the four-by-four disappearing under the barrier.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, Elvis has entered the building.’

‘That who I think it is?’ asked Styles.

‘Yep. C’mon, let’s see if we can get a snap of the two of them before they go inside. Shaking hands would be nice, but even just a side profile would do for now.’

They stuck close to the fence line, the angle of their approach and the closely grouped steel palisade fencing posts meaning that they could barely make out the outline of the warehouse until they got within fifty yards of the barrier. That worked both ways, though. Anyone looking out at the main road would see a flicker of shadow between posts at best.

Porter stopped behind a lamp post and Styles nearly walked into him. He raised his binoculars again, only squinting through one lens this time, pressing it up against a gap in the fence. The black car, he could see now, was a Land Rover, the dark green ellipse of the badge recognisable despite the distance. It pulled up next to the white Honda that Porter had begun to think of as more of a light grey with its film of grime.