'Harry!… Hey, Harry! Get in! Get in the car!'

'WHAT?' Harry turned back to Wally, finger on his chest. He had wanted a private confab since they'd arrived at the office, but there had been no opportunity. He knew he had to warn Wally, just in case anyone should get wind that they had been given a tip-off about the safe house.

Wally looked Harry directly in the face. 'I dunno what you're talkin' about sunshine, I've not been up the base for months.'

Harry winked. 'Good, just remember that, you never told me nothin'.'

Cliff was hysterical as he yelled, 'Harry get in the friggin' car.'

Harry still took his time, easing his bulk into the passenger seat. 'What you gettin' your knickers in a twist about, we'll be on time.'

'Behind you, didn't you fuckin' see it?' Cliff jerked his thumb over his shoulder. 'It's that van from this morning… let's move.'

'What the bloody hell you doin'!' Halfway in the rear door, Wally hopped on one foot as Cliff did a tight U-turn, and scrambled in as the Granada screeched off down the road.

'It's Cliff! Yeah! Is Frank there?'

One ear covered by his hand, the other ear glued to the portable phone, Cliff did his best to make himself heard above The Happy Mondays. He was a big Diana Ross fan, and this lot sounded to him to be in the throes of terminal agony. Cliff shut his eyes to cut out the flashing strobe lights, face screwed up in a painful grimace. The narrow passage was only feet away from a vast, heaving, sweating mob of youth, the noise and heat wafting over him in waves.

'No, no, he's not with me, you know where he is? I've tried him on the portable an' I'm gettin' no answer. Listen, if he comes in, love, will you tell him it's urgent, I'll wait for him at the office… yeah! Yeah, I know what time it is. Okay, tell him it's urgent, an' I'm with Harry…'

'Come on, come on,' the young guy who was promoting the gig bellowed, beckoning to him. 'There's kids trying to get in by the back door.'

Cliff finished the call and scurried off.

'Oi! Me phone.'

Cliff handed it back. 'Thanks, mate.'

Dillon was doing his flunkey act, holding open the rear door of the Merc. He'd already taken the entire staff of the Chinese restaurant home, nine waiters and waitresses, dropping them off at their respective addresses, and now it was the turn of the manager and his wife. They settled themselves inside, and Dillon opened the front passenger door to get at the bleeping portable on the dashboard.

'Dillon… eh, can't hear, just take your time.' He glanced at his watch. 'I'll be back at base in about an hour… Okay, hang on.'

He leaned in and spoke to the Chinese man and his wife, reclining in luxury. 'You'll have to call another cab.' They both blinked up at him, totally bewildered. 'Out. Go on – out!'

Dillon slammed the door after them and said into the phone, 'Gimme ten minutes.' He climbed in and zoomed off, leaving the manager and his wife on the pavement staring at him, not quite inscrutably.

This had better be worth it. Three-thirty in the morning and they want a pow-wow. Plus losing the chink custom. And he needed his sleep, badly. If this was all over nothing…

Cliff opened the basement door and launched right in, gabbling ten to the dozen and waving his arms around. He followed Dillon into the office, where Harry was sitting with his feet on the desk, a mug of coffee in his fist.

'… so we're lost, right, Harry's tryin' to find the address, he's in a call box, over by Tower Bridge, the wharf, when I see the truck -'

'What truck?'

'The one from this morning' – the bleedin' furniture van, went straight past me.'

'What you do? Call the cops?'

'I called you! Where the hell you been?'

'With the bloody Chinese…'

'We tried to follow but we lost it, then we had to get to this gig!'

'Probably be stripped an' dumped by now,' Harry reckoned. 'There's a couple of crusher yards around that area, an' it -'

'Well, let the cops sort that out – it's nothin' to do with us.' Dillon rubbed his eyes. 'I better get home.'

Harry banged his mug down on the desk, slopping coffee.

'Tell him!'

Cliff jerked his head rapidly. 'Frank – the driver. I knew I'd seen him before. It was that Barry Newman's heavy…'

'Colin,' Harry said. 'One that picked your kids up,' he added softly, looking straight at Dillon with his shrewd baby-blues.

Cliff was nodding, more arm-waving. 'An' if you put two an' two together, I mean, he knows what business we're in – he even owns this place, right, he could have… he could…' He puffed out his cheeks. A thousand possibilities. Take your pick.

Dillon's head was down, staring at the floor. 'Here we go again.' He swiped the air viciously. 'Why is it, every time I get a goddamned leg-up, something – somebody drags me down?' He stared at the desk for a second, nostrils flaring, breathing audible. He stared for a second more, then jerked his thumb at Cliff. 'Go out back, get some ropes an' that gear Jimmy left.' Dillon's eyes were suddenly hard, like shiny black pebbles. 'I'm gonna sort this bastard out once and for all.'

It was well after four, and Newman's warehouse was in darkness. Dillon and Harry got out of the Granada, looking up and down the dark empty street. Harry collected the gear from the boot and carefully pressed it shut. Dillon leaned down to Cliff in the driver's seat. 'We'll have a shufty around. Park it a good distance.'

The whites of Cliff's eyes gleamed. 'You mean walk back here?'

'Anythin' happens, our logo's on the side of the car, you pillock!'

Harry tapped on the roof, advising Cliff he'd got the rope and other stuff, and Cliff drove off. They approached the high gates, chain-link reinforced with iron bars, fringed along the top with razor wire. There was a snarling alsatian in a triangular metal sign with GUARD above and DOG beneath.

'Dog!'

'I can read, Harry! But I didn't see one when I was here, did you?' Harry shook his head. 'Just a front, cheap bastard,' Dillon said.

They moved further along, past the gates to a wall topped with broken bottle glass set in cement. 'Okay, my old son, how we gonna work it,' Harry said, unslinging the coil of rope from his shoulder. 'This wall's a piece of cake, an' I got a crowbar…'

'Let's just check out for alarms, no ruddy heroics. We've had enough for one day. We just sort the place out.'

Dillon's fear of alarms was unfounded, at least as far as the external windows were concerned. Harry jemmied the catch and the three of them slipped inside. They moved on rubber soles along the aisles, hands cupped around the torch glass so the light was focused into tight beams. The shelves were chock-a-block with Newman's Third World trade. One rack was completely filled with elephants, some without their decorative head-dresses, some in the process of being replaced with beads and coloured glass. At the far end they came to Newman's office, a partitioned structure of wooden panels up to waist height and panes of frosted glass right up to the ceiling.

Harry held up his hand. 'Hang about…' He did a slow sweep with the torch round the edge of the door. 'You see any wires?'

Dillon ran his fingers along the top and down both sides of the door frame. 'I'd say we're okay.'

Harry moved back a pace or two. He switched off his torch and craned upwards, peering through the frosted glass. 'Don't go in,' he warned Dillon. 'See that red dot? We got to find the main electricity circuit. We cross that beam an' all hell breaks loose. I'll go, just stay put.' He flicked on the torch and went off.

Dillon and Cliff hunkered down, backs to the wooden panels.

Down in the basement Harry followed the circuit cables along the wall, which led him eventually to the mains box. He opened the cast-iron cover and propped his torch at an angle to provide illumination. He leaned in, lifting two wires clear with his screwdriver, clippers poised. 'Our Father which art in heaven…'