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Carver couldn’t help wanting to be near Alix. Part of it was a natural feeling of protectiveness. And then there was the nagging fear that no matter how hard she tried to hide herself away, Novak would somehow manage to find her. If or when that happened, he had to be able to do something about it.

He’d tried to call Alix, but her phone was unavailable. All he knew was that she was at Trent Peck’s flat, somewhere in St John’s Wood, so he headed to Regent’s Park, which was pretty much next door. It was also a large, open area with very few CCTV cameras and plenty of space for a man to get lost in. Carver navigated a path through the wilderness of unmown grass, stinging nettles, broken bottles and used condoms and found himself a relatively intact park bench. Then he started thinking.

Peck was a US diplomat, so his phone and address wouldn’t be listed. But he was also a rich bachelor at a loose end in the big city, and it struck Carver that he might just be daft or egotistical enough to stick himself all over a social network or two. In point of fact, it had nothing to do with ego. Peck was in the business of creating an image for himself, a smokescreen behind which he could hide his true purpose, and the self-indulgent playboy has been a pose for spies as long as secrets have been hidden and uncovered.

Either way, it took a minute or two on Carver’s smartphone to uncover Peck’s Facebook account. Though his Wall was restricted to Friends, most of his photos were not. So Carver sifted through countless shots of TP3 living large at poolsides, parties and polo tournaments. And then he hit pay dirt: an album modestly titled, ‘John, Paul, George, Ringo… and Trent’.

There was Peck, posing with his kids as they strode across the zebra crossing in Beatle-esque poses with the caption, ‘Can’t believe I live about fifty yards from here!’

In the next shot, there he was again, standing on a roof terrace, pointing back down at the road, with the famous white stripes just visible in the background and another caption. ‘Told ya so!’

So he lived on Abbey Road. Carver logged on to Google Earth, opened up the Streetview shots of the area and soon found Peck’s flat. The jammy little sod had a fifth-floor penthouse on top of a modern, glass-fronted building just down the road from the legendary Abbey Road Studios. It was actually more like eighty yards from the crossing, but that was just being picky. More importantly from Carver’s point of view, the satellite photo showed that Peck’s building, which was named The Glasshouse, butted right up against the block next door. Both buildings were of very similar heights and had flat roofs. This neighbouring block was right beside Peck’s penthouse, which occupied half the top floor. It had two large glass lanterns in its roof, bringing natural daylight into the rooms below.

Carver kept Googling, and found countless property ads for apartments in The Glasshouse, including an old one for Peck’s apartment which not only gave him pictures of the open-plan living area, the kitchen and one of the bedrooms, but also provided a plan, which he promptly downloaded to his phone. The images of the interior layout were tiny, but he could make out the key features nonetheless.

He knew exactly where Alix was now. He could picture the rooms where she was sitting. Was she making polite conversation with Peck? Was she having to give him more to ensure his co-operation? Carver knew she loved him, but he also knew she had been trained to use her body to bend a man to her will.

It took every ounce of self-control to stop himself going there now, standing guard outside the door, or simply charging in and beating the crap out of Trent Peck the bloody Third. But he knew the reality of the situation. He could not compromise Alix’s security by leading anyone else to her. He was a mile and a half from her now, and that was as close as it was going to get.

Still, now that he’d found one of the women in his life, what about the other? Ginger’s number was still in his address book. He sent her a message: ‘Ginger, darling, enjoyed our chat this a.m. v much. Care for a walk in the park? Sam Cx’

It was the first feeler sent out from one opponent to another. Carver was certain it wouldn’t be long now before contact was made. He could sense it in his bones.

Novak got the message. She would have grinned with delight if she’d been capable of such a thing. Instead, she called Kutchinski: ‘Carver’s made contact. He wants to meet. Do I have clearance to act on his invitation?’

‘No,’ she was told. ‘We have other plans.’

‘What if this is my only opportunity? He could be captured by the police. He could leave the country. Anything could happen.’

‘Be patient. Just bide your time and you will have him. You will have it all.’

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