The stranger paused for a moment. ‘People have a habit of calling me Hate,’ he called back over his shoulder, striding past the serried ranks of BMXs.

‘That figures,’ Chib muttered to himself. Glenn had helped Johnno to his feet.

‘Dead man walking!’ Johnno yelled. ‘Next time I see you – that’s a promise, pal!’ He jabbed a finger in Hate’s general direction. Glenn was patting him on the back, trying to calm him down. Johnno’s eyes were on his employer. ‘We need to take him out, Chib. See him taken care of… send a message to anyone and everyone.’

‘Reckon you’re up to the job, Johnno?’ Chib asked. ‘I wouldn’t say you looked rusty back there, but I’ve known scrapyards with merchandise in better nick – and that’s after the compactor’s had a go at them.’

‘We could follow him,’ Glenn was saying. ‘Find out where he’s staying, what his real name is…’

Chib nodded thoughtfully. ‘Knowledge is power, Glenn. Reckon you could track him without him noticing?’

‘We can give it a go,’ Glenn offered. But the giant was three quarters of the way across the playing field. No way they could go after him on foot without him knowing about it: there was no cover.

‘Make some calls instead,’ Chib suggested by way of an alternative. ‘Bed and breakfasts to start with. Say you’re from the tourist office and some Norwegian bloke’s gone and dropped some money.’

Glenn was nodding. ‘I want to get his money back to him.’

‘And put out his description among the dossers and the jakeys – that lot have got eyes in the backs of their heads and would pimp their granny for a bottle of Buckie.’

Glenn was studying his employer. ‘Can I take it you’re not planning on paying up?’

‘Let’s see,’ was all Chib Calloway said, unlocking the car with his remote.

10

‘I don’t like this,’ Mike Mackenzie was saying.

He was in Robert Gissing’s office, the door locked and the plan of the warehouse spread across the desk, weighted down at its corners with oversized art books. Gissing had paid another visit to the warehouse and had amended the plan accordingly.

‘You turned up there unannounced,’ Mike stated. ‘Might make them suspicious come the heist.’

The professor patted Mike on the back. ‘I never thought of that, Michael. You’re quite right, and I’ll be sure to check with you first in future. But to put your mind at rest, I do the same thing once or twice a year, and I don’t think my presence was much noticed. They’re too busy finding space for all the new arrivals.’

By which he meant the extensive overflow from the Royal Museum. The place was getting a major overhaul, and a good part of its collection needed shifting elsewhere for the duration. As Gissing had explained, it might make their job harder on the day. Items could have been moved to make space. But he didn’t think the paintings would be relocated – he’d made the trip to assure himself of that.

Mike was studying the plan. ‘Gatehouse,’ he recited. ‘CCTV cameras. Guardroom. Staff acting as guides, plus everyone on the tour. If you’re sitting in the getaway van, that only leaves three of us to cope with it all.’

‘And at least one of you will need to be collecting the actual paintings.’

Mike nodded slowly, then began shaking his head instead. ‘We’ll never manage.’

‘Cold feet, young Michael?’

‘Just want to make sure we’re covering all the angles.’

Gissing seemed to accept this. ‘Maybe it’s Allan whose feet are getting chilled…’

Allan hadn’t been able to make the meeting. Mike had called it at short notice, and Allan had apologised by text: there were things at work he couldn’t get out of. Mike tapped the plan a final couple of times and then walked over to one of the chairs, sitting down on it heavily, running both hands through his hair while he looked around the room. The office was emptier than before – some of the boxes of books had gone. Pictures were missing from the walls.

‘Allan’s fine. He wants you to make a copy of the plan so he can study it at home.’

‘I’ll arrange it, but meantime, put my mind at rest…’

‘What?’

‘Something’s worrying you.’

‘It just seemed so straightforward, back at the start,’ Mike admitted with a sigh.

‘Most plans do, when you first think of them,’ Gissing offered.

‘Bottom line, Robert – we’ve been through this a dozen times…’ A dozen late-night phone calls; Mike pacing his living room, deep in thought. ‘You know it comes down to the same thing – we need more hands.’

Gissing folded his arms and rested his backside against the edge of his desk. He was keeping his voice down, aware of his secretary outside the locked door. He’d warned Mike – not too many more meetings, or she’d start to have suspicions of her own. ‘Remember,’ he said now, ‘the old adage about too many cooks?’

Mike just shrugged. ‘The only other alternative is, this stays on the drawing board – a nice dream, just as Westie said, never to be realised.’

‘I was under the impression, Michael, that that’s pretty much been your attitude throughout: a little challenge to keep the grey cells active. Or has the pull of Lady Monboddo finally become too strong to resist?’

‘I’m every bit as serious about this as you are, Professor.’

‘That’s good to hear, because, with your help or without it, I intend going ahead with the plan.’

Mike ignored this. His thoughts were elsewhere. ‘One other thing,’ he said. ‘The switch – we can’t do it in the warehouse itself. We’ll be in there maybe twenty minutes… no way we can walk away apparently empty-handed.’

‘Not even if we’ve raised the alarm ourselves?’

Mike shook his head determinedly. Gissing’s plan had been, swap the real paintings for Westie’s copies. Once that was done, hit an alarm and make a run for it, pretending the thieves had been spooked into leaving before they could take anything.

‘When the CID arrive, first thing they’re going to wonder is: what were we up to in those twenty minutes? How come we didn’t just grab something and run when we tripped the alarm?’

‘Then maybe we should take something…’

Mike shook his head again. ‘Better yet, we take everything – the originals and the copies. We only get frightened afterwards and abandon the van, with one lot of paintings in the back. Everyone will be so relieved to get the stuff back, they’ll not be thinking about anything else.’

Gissing’s eyes grew unfocused and Mike knew he was running it through his mind. Then he smiled.

‘You really have been doing some thinking, Michael. And maybe you’ve struck on something.’

‘But it does throw up another problem – we need a van we can jettison, meaning it can’t be traced back to us. Any good at a spot of hot-wiring, Professor?’

‘What do you think?’

‘Me neither, and I doubt either Allan or Westie has the necessary skills. So now we can add a van to the shopping list, alongside some weaponry and a few spare bodies.’ Mike got up from his seat, so he was facing Gissing at eye level as he went on. ‘What we really need is someone who knows about heists… someone Allan mentioned right at the start of this project. The raid on First Caly, remember?’

Gissing’s eyes widened in disbelief. ‘We’d be mad to let him near this!’ he gasped.

Mike had moved a step closer. ‘Think about it, Robert: Calloway has the know-how and the manpower. He can find us that van and the necessary firearms.’

‘I believe the gangland terminology is “shooters”.’

Mike gave a conciliatory smile. ‘I mean, if there’s anyone else who springs to mind… anyone equally qualified… Because if we bring in any more amateurs like us, how do we know we can trust them?’

‘Are you telling me you think Chib Calloway is a man to be trusted?’

‘He’s got more to lose than any of us. With a record like his, the law would come down on him like Carl Andre’s bricks.’