Rob went back to work feeling a bit better about the situation. If he wasn’t careful, things might get hairy, but Wayne had made all the right noises and told him more or less what he had wanted to hear. It was a “get out of jail free” card; if Carter caught him, he could trade his life for the information that Wayne had encouraged the betrayal. At the end of the day, David Carter would rather know that Wayne had betrayed him than Rob.

Now it was just a waiting game.

Just as he was about to clock off for the day, the phone on Rob’s desk began to ring. He swore under his breath and lunged for it.

“Mr. Linley?” The voice was unfamiliar, and spoke with a faintly discernible accent. Instantly, jets of icy dread shot through Rob’s heart.

“Speaking.”

“There is a car waiting for you outside. A black Mercedes.”

Rob peeked out between the window blinds and saw the waiting saloon. His first instinct was to run, but he quickly decided against it. They would only hunt him down. Instead he calmly hung up the phone and headed outside.

A chauffeur in a grey uniform climbed out of the car and held open the rear passenger door. Without a word, Rob climbed in.

He found himself sitting beside Yuri Popov, who was staring straight ahead, as though in a trance.

The chauffeur got into the driver’s seat and gunned the engine. They coasted away from the curb. Rob glanced sideways at the gangster’s son, who was still staring straight ahead.

Finally, Yuri spoke. “You got my message.”

“Yes.”

“And your answer?”

“Yes,” Rob said without hesitation.

Yuri Popov did not smile. “Good,” he said.

*

Mikhail was pleasantly surprised by the speed at which things were progressing. He contemplated the situation over his morning coffee. Not only had Wayne Carter proved himself an able (and decidedly useful) ally, but he had also managed to recruit Rob Linley, who was evidently one of David's 'chosen few.'

The coffee was strong and black; thick enough to chew. Mikhail savoured it as he decided what to do next. Really, the answer was obvious. Targeting Silvertown was the right call. Perhaps naively, Mikhail had previously assumed that David's weakness would be his son. But that was evidently not the case. No, David's real weakness lay in his almost pathological need to see the Silvertown development through to its bitter conclusion.

In a way, Mikhail could empathise with that. It was yet another area of concordance between the two men's personalities. And if the roles were reversed, Mikhail knew all too well that David Carter would exploit every opportunity to its fullest extent. What choice did Mikhail have but to do likewise?

It had been wise to send Yuri. Yuri had a kind of unspoken authority about him. People were reluctant to fuck with him, whereas Stanislaw seemed to give off an air of recklessness. And recklessness was weakness, as far as Mikhail was concerned. Yuri was remorseless and uncompromising. A perfect enforcer. Mikhail could not really say why his two sons had turned out so differently. They had received more or less identical upbringings. But all along, Yuri had been the one to whom Mikhail could entrust the most important tasks. Yuri was the one who would take over when he, Mikhail, was dead.

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With another sip of coffee Mikhail washed away these thoughts of mortality. It did no one any good to ruminate on such matters; it only made him morbid. And his task was not yet finished. There was more work to be done.

*

The Mercedes was making a slow circuit round Battersea Park. Yuri sat upright in the back seat, his gaze fixed dead ahead as he spoke. "Thank you for meeting me," he said politely.

Rob Linley, seated beside him, just nodded.

This was the way they did things now. Rob Linley was determined not to make waves. He wanted the whole thing to remain hush-hush, and so he behaved with the utmost discretion. Whenever he received word from the Popovs, he simply dropped whatever he was doing and did as they asked. He had now met with Yuri three times, and each time in the back of the slick black Mercedes on an aimless course around London. While the chauffeur drove, the two men in the back seat simply talked.

Rob felt safe as long as the tinted windows shielded him from the outside world. He was fine just as long as no one saw him. If even the tiniest hint of a rumour reached David Carter's ears, there would be hell to pay.

To begin with, Yuri had done most of the talking. It was bizarre; he so seldom spoke in his day-to-day life, or whenever he appeared beside his father, that Rob had wondered whether the man was, in fact, mute. But that was definitely not the case. He was just a man who only spoke when he had something to say.

And now he was talking about Silvertown.

"It must mean a great deal to your boss." He spoke softly, without much of an accent. The benefits of an English private school education.

"It's not just the money," said Rob. "It's the... what's the word? The prestige. He wants to make his mark."

"Don't we all," was Yuri's riposte. Then, startlingly, he turned his head and stared at Rob. "Alright, we have exchanged pleasantries long enough. You have shown that you're willing to help us; that's good. But now the time has come to get things moving. What do you have for us?"

This was exactly what Rob had been dreading ever since he had received that first message from the Popovs. He had been hoping he might be able to string them along for a little while with vague promises of information, before fobbing them off with something altogether innocuous. Evidently that was not going to be the case.

"I need time," Rob said. "What you have to understand is that there's so much about the Silvertown operation that even I don't know."

"You have been saying something similar for over a week now," Yuri countered, still not taking his eyes off Rob. Rob looked away, but he could still feel that merciless gaze boring into him like a dentist's drill. "I think perhaps you are taking the piss."

Rob didn't like the sound of that. "I'm not! It's just that..."

"Please," Yuri held up a hand for silence. "I don't want to hear any more excuses." He pressed an intercom button and spoke to the driver in Russian. Swiftly, the Mercedes changed course.

"Where are we going?" Rob felt the sweat trickling down the back of his neck.

Yuri did not answer.

Soon enough, it became clear. The Mercedes coasted to a halt beside a children's playground. "No," Rob whispered. Through the tinted window, he spotted Chloe and the twins. The little ones were on a see-saw on the far side of the playground while Chloe was sitting on a bench, watching them happily.

Yuri had a pistol in one hand. In the other, he held a silencer. "You know," said Yuri, "I have been nothing but fair with you. I believe that's the foundation of a successful partnership. So, I'm going to give you a chance to choose."

"Ch-choose what?"

"Which of them." Yuri looked at the children and Chloe. His gaze drifted coolly from one to the other. "The choice is yours."

"No!" Rob yelled and reached for the gun. Yuri caught hold of his hand and gripped his little finger. With a deft, almost effortless twist, he snapped the bone. Rob's yell became shrill, and Yuri smiled.

Rob sobbed as the pain coursed up his arm.

"Well?" said Yuri. "Which of them?" He pressed a button and the tinted window slid down. Then he rested the silencer on the edge of the window to steady his aim.

"Please..." said Rob, clutching his injured hand.

"You know what you have to do. I believe you have the information we require. The choice is yours. Give us what we want. Or face the consequences."

"Alright," said Rob. "Alright." He wasn't like David Carter. He couldn't just stand by while a madman aimed a gun at his family. He took a moment to catch his breath. His broken finger continued to throb. "Have you ever heard of the Judas Fly?"

Slowly, thoughtfully, Yuri withdrew the pistol, closed the window, and began to unscrew the silencer once again. "No," he said. "I think you had better tell me."