To celebrate barbecue season, they had a rack of bubble-wrapped openers, the kind you fasten to the wall beside the fridge, on special offer by the till. Just what I was looking for. I threw one into my trolley. I also bought a can of WD-40.

I packed the stuff into the front end of the Expert’s no longer refrigerated load space, then climbed in after it. Out came the screwdriver again. I mounted the cling-film holder and the bottle opener low down on the partition that separated it from the cab, making doubly sure they were both within easy reach of my right hand when I was kneeling. I put the degreaser and the Cherry Fanta packs underneath. I needed to be able to rip off those bottle tops with zero effort.

I padlocked all the other shit I’d bought, apart from the cloths and the mug, into the toolbox with my day sack. The only sharp objects I wanted around were the ones I had under my control. The last thing I did was give the handle, rollers and bearings of the sliding door a man-size spray of WD-40.

I checked the Nokia before turning the ignition key, even though there was no reason for there to be any further messages. It was forty-five minutes before the first deadline. I’d be within range of Adler HQ in twenty, as long as the traffic was no worse than it had been during my recce.

But I was still on a tight schedule.

13

I got to the multi-storey as the streetlights were sparking up. The Adler section on level three was less full than it had been last night, even though it was earlier in the evening.

The Maserati was parked nose out, its rear end against the wall overlooking the street, with a couple of spaces on either side of it. That suited me fine. It meant that if I drove straight in, my sliding door would be exactly where I wanted it – a metre behind his driver’s door. It also meant that the Expert blocked Hesco’s wagon from the CCTV camera.

I rested the Nokia on the ledge beneath the speedometer and rev counter and stayed where I was. The cab was high enough off the ground to let me see straight over the white-painted concrete parapet and into the offices across the way. From this distance I couldn’t see faces with the naked eye, so I brought out the binos and focused on each illuminated window in turn, right to left.

Most of the late staff seemed to be running around in neat business suits, with the odd jacket across the back of a chair if they were really hanging loose. I spotted a pair of security guards doing their rounds but couldn’t catch anyone built or dressed like Hesco. So what? It didn’t have to mean he wasn’t there.

If he’d binned the Maserati for the night, I would have to live with that and do whatever the next call told me to. From there, I’d wing it.

But I still had three advantages.

He’d think I was still in the Polo.

I knew what he looked like.

And I didn’t think he’d yet pinged me.

If he stuck with the Maserati, I’d have a fourth. It would confirm that he was a cocky fucker, and didn’t feel the need to stay out of sight.

I exited the cab and threw back the side door, taking the Nokia with me. I put the phone, face up, at the base of the partition and started to sort myself out.

First, I pulled the door almost all the way shut. It slid along its rails without a squeak. I moved my right eye up close to the two-centimetre gap and checked my field of vision. I could see the headrest of the Maserati’s driver’s seat, and, over its roof, the passageway that led to the lift. The stretch between the two was dead ground.

Leaving the Nokia where it was, I unrolled a metre and a half of cling-film, twisted it into a rope, then knotted it at both ends and a couple of times near the middle. I hung it on a hook to the left of the window that looked through to the front of the van.

Next, I ripped open the bag of disposable cloths and crumpled one into the mug. I poured some of the degreasing solvent over it and sealed the rim with another strip of cling-film. I peeled back the first few centimetres off the roll of gaffer tape. Then I gave each of the cable ties a vigorous tug to make sure they were secure. Lyubova would have been no pushover, but the Albanian was at least twice her size and would put up more of a fight.

The double-barbed staples were going nowhere.

The Nokia’s screen flashed on as I got out. Unknown number. I steadied my breathing and pressed the green button.

‘Yup?’

‘Be at the Stadtlounge in exactly two hours.’

‘The what?’

‘The City Lounge. Bleichestrasse. In the business centre. You can’t miss it, even at night. It’s red.’

‘I know it.’

I tried not to think of the expression on Stefan’s face as we’d passed the place yesterday evening.

‘Park in one of the spaces in the square. By the blocks. Do not get out of the car.’

‘Put the boy on. I need to know he’s alive.’

He cut the connection.

14

Hesco had the leverage and he knew it. He had me by the bollocks and could squeeze as much as he wanted. Fair one. I’d have cut the connection too. I wasn’t being ordered to the City Lounge for a kiss and a cuddle. They weren’t just going to hand over the kid and tell us to go and have a nice holiday somewhere warm. They were going to kill us both.

I moved to the parapet. Keeping close to the pillar, I looked across the street. I didn’t have to wait more than a couple of minutes before the main entrance of the Adler building swung open. A familiar figure came down the steps and out on to the pavement. He stopped and glanced at his watch. Probably counting down the minutes until I turned up at the lounge.

For a moment I thought Hesco might be waiting for reinforcements. I hoped not. But I’d deal with it if it happened. I was pretty sure he wouldn’t be picking up Stefan in full view of Adler HQ.

He clamped a cigarette between his lips. Lit it. Took a couple of drags. Then he walked five paces up the street, away from the entrance to the multi-storey, and took a couple more. Finally he launched what was left of it into the gutter and headed in my direction.

I climbed back into the Expert’s load space, eased the side door into position then reached up and turned off the light. I adjusted the Sphinx in my waistband, flexed my shoulder muscles and controlled my breathing.

I unpeeled the seal on the mug and left it within close reach.

I unhooked the cling-film rope and gripped an end in each hand.

I heard the lift open, then footsteps. A figure appeared at the mouth of the passageway. Thin. Bearded.

Not Hesco.

He turned left and out of sight. A key fob cheeped. An engine fired up. A set of headlamps swept towards me. Then screeched to a halt. Judging by the height of them, they didn’t belong to something low and sleek. They belonged to a chunky 4x4.

This wasn’t good. The wagon completely blocked my line of sight. A Land Cruiser or a Shogun, judging by the silhouette.

If he stayed where he was, I wouldn’t spot my target until he was breathing my oxygen. And my whole performance would be floodlit.

And if he was the guy Hesco had been waiting for, I was comprehensively fucked. There was no way I could exit the Expert without being seen.

He stayed where he was for another three minutes, then took off at speed. But that was all it took for Hesco to come in under the radar. I heard the squeak of boots. A shadow fell across the gap between my door and the frame.

There was another electronic chirrup, and I saw the Maserati boot open. A chunky set of shoulders moved past. Dark, tightly curled hair. An arm. A hand, carrying a suitcase. I shoved back the door and threw the cling film over his head like a skipping rope and heaved it back as my feet touched the ground.