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racing. Did that mean the hunt was today? Either way, he had to make his move.
    The volunteer ushered out an ageing woman named Josie, who shuffled out of the door, muttering. Meanwhile, a venerable old Indian man they called Raj was gently roused from his sleep and invited to be on his way.
    Barron still hadn’t moved. He sat at the table and made a show of licking his plate. Shelley decided to wait outside, so he shouldered his backpack and made his way to the street, where vehicleslined the pavements and warehouse conversions rose on both sides. Colin stood leaning on the bonnet of a parked car, arms folded. At the sight of Shelley he frowned. ‘What are you doing here?’
    Shelley jerked a thumb back at a shelter. ‘Slept there last night,’ he said.
    Behind him, the door opened and Barron appeared, belongings in hand.
    ‘Aha,’ he rasped on seeing Colin, ‘my carriage awaits.’
    The moment hung. Shelley opened his mouth, knowing he had to say something or forfeit his only chance to muscle in on Barron. But Colin spoke first and gave him just the opening he needed.
    ‘Here, Barron,’ leered Colin, ‘our friend here was trying to put you out of a job the other day, so he was.’
    Barron’s smile faded as he looked across to Shelley. ‘Oh yeah? Funny, now you come to mention it, he’s been hanging round like a bad smell these past couple of days.’
    The tinted window of a black people carrier parked on the other side of the street glided down noiselessly. In the passenger seat sat the snappy dresser Shelley had seen in the Ten Bells. He wore shades, his expression unreadable as he gazed across to where Barron was rounding on Shelley.
    ‘So what makes this one think he can take my job, hey?’ the bigger man was demanding to know.
    Mouth split into a grin, Colin goaded him. ‘Says he’s a commando. Said something about how Royal Marines eat Paras for breakfast.’
    ‘Did he now?’ said Barron, pulling himself up to his full height and towering over Shelley, who didn’t budge. His hands were in his coat pockets and he flexed them surreptitiously, careful to keep his features blank.
    ‘I didn’t say that,’ he said. ‘I didn’t say Royal Marines eat Paras for breakfast.’
    ‘Good. You better not have, because—’
    ‘But it’s true. Royal Marines do eat Paras for breakfast.’
    Colin chortled in appreciation. Framed in the window of the people carrier, the snappy dresser removed his sunglasses. An indignant Barron poked at Shelley, who allowed himself to be propelled back a few steps, using the opportunity to adjust his footing, withdrawing his hands from his pockets at the same time. His pulse quickened. His muscles bunched and tensed as Barron bore down on him, growling, ‘How about you put your money where your mouth is?’
    The fight was on. But by coming close, Barron had sacrificed his only advantages – his height and reach – and when he threw a straight right, Shelley blocked it and responded with a left overhand punch, keeping his elbow bent and his chin tucked into his shoulder. Shelley felt Barron’s jaw crack.
    Colin gave an impressed whistle. Meanwhile Barron regained his footing, wondering how he’d failed to make contact. His eyebrows knitted in confusion, his brow darkened with fury and he was drawing himself up, about to launch a second attack, when there came a whistle from the people carrier.
    ‘Does somebody want to tell me what’s going on?’ called the snappy dresser. His voice was neutral like that of Claridge. Another civil servant? Somebody high up in security?
    From the way Barron assessed the new arrival, Shelley could tell it was the first time he’d clapped eyes on him, too. And that he instinctively realised this man was in charge.
    ‘This joker’s about to get a beating,’ Barron called back.
    Colin, enjoying himself, pushed himself off the car and called back to his boss. ‘We’ve got a new contender for the position, guv,’ he said. ‘Bit of a