Andy McNab - Meltdown

There was no question of them paying to get in. They were led into the club itself and then told to have a wonderful evening – there was plenty of room in the VIP area.

The pounding, thudding music was so loud that Danny had to shout to be heard. 'What was all that about?'

'What?' shouted Storm.

Danny pointed back to the entrance. 'The special treatment! We didn't even pay!'

Storm laughed. 'The twins use this club. They never pay, and neither do their special friends.'

Danny shook his head and smiled as he looked around the club. It was just before midnight and the place seemed packed to capacity. It was a long time since he'd ventured into a club of any description, and on those very few occasions they'd been the downmarket sort of place where no one questioned your age.

This one was different; it was definitely the cool place to be. The dance floor was a seething mass of dazzling white teeth and white shirts, as dancers gyrated, sometimes under multicoloured lights, sometimes under black light – UV light that couldn't be seen but turned anything white brilliantly luminous.

Danny had made an effort to look the part after Storm told him that the dress code at the club was 'smart casual', meaning no jeans. Danny was almost always in jeans and T-shirt or sweatshirt and trainers, and he didn't exactly have an extensive wardrobe.

But during the build-up in Hereford he'd been ordered to go and buy a few more items of clothing – his instructors had told him that jeans and sweatshirt wouldn't always be what was required. So he'd gone to the Next store in Hereford and bought a couple of pairs of trousers and some shirts, and even a pair of regular shoes.

The shoes were pinching his feet and he was hoping that Storm wouldn't ask him to dance. His dancing was terrible at the best of times, but in these shoes he'd look like a total idiot.

Fortunately Storm was avoiding the seething mass of bodies on the dance floor and was heading for the bar, where the music level was slightly less eardrum-bursting.

A barman appeared the moment Storm flashed her stunning smile. 'Large vodka tonic, please!' She turned to Danny. 'What about you?'

It was another problem. Danny hadn't realized that a simple evening out could be so complicated. He didn't drink. Not because he had any objection to it; he just didn't like the taste. He'd tried beer a few times and thought it was revolting; he'd never bothered with anything stronger. But he couldn't tell Storm that – he'd feel a right dickhead.

'Come on, Danny,' said Storm. 'We're not the only customers.'

'Er… er… I'll have a Beck's.'

Storm paid for the drinks, caught Danny's eye and nodded towards the VIP section. It was less crowded and they'd be able to sit down and talk – which, Danny reminded himself, was what he was there for.

He noticed the envious glances he received from other guys as they squeezed through and headed for the blue velvet rope which barred the way to everyone but the so-called VIPs. Storm might not be his girlfriend, but the guys watching them didn't know that. It made him feel good and he smiled as a big bouncer detached the rope and held it back so that they could walk through.

But not all the looks cast in Danny's direction were envious; one was filled with hatred, scorching into him like a laser.

It was Albie. And Albie wasn't having a good night. His Meltdown-addled mind was in turmoil as his eyes flicked from Danny to Storm. The slag! She wouldn't come to a club with him but now she was here with that poncy wimp!

Albie turned away from any watching eyes and opened one clenched hand: two brilliant white Ms glowed under the black light. The red Mini Cooper was travelling at a steady pace away from Manchester city centre.

Fergus had told Phil to follow the angry young man with the flaming red hair when he left the twins, and to get an IR marker on his vehicle – if he had a vehicle.

Well, Carrot-top had a vehicle right enough; it was a deeper shade of red than his hair.

The exchange between Carrot-top and the twins had been pretty short and not too sweet. He'd said what he had to say listened to what Phil guessed were some reassuring words from the twins, and then got up and left. Phil had followed, hoping that he'd get lucky and his target had a vehicle parked nearby. If he didn't, it might well be all over before it began.

Phil's Vectra was parked close to the hotel. He followed his target up into reception and through the glass double doors at the front. Directly across the street was a parking bay where three taxis stood waiting for fares. If Carrot-top took the first, Phil would have no option but to jump into the one behind and do the old 'follow that car' routine.

That wouldn't be good. The roads were relatively quiet at this time of night, and even if Carrot-top didn't clock that he was being followed, his cab driver probably would. If he mentioned it to his passenger, then Phil's game would almost certainly be up.

But Carrot-top ignored the taxis and turned left, pulling a key fob from his pocket as he strode away. It was a good sign; his car was most likely very close by, unless he just enjoyed walking around with a bunch of keys in his hand.

He was obviously still too angry to even consider the possibility that someone might be following him. Phil smiled as his target took the first left, Gore Street, which was where the nearest parking meters were located. And exactly where Phil's Vectra was parked.

As Phil made the turn, he saw the lights flash on a red Mini as his target pointed the key fob at the vehicle. It was a little further along the street, right outside the pub on the corner. And, even better news, it was facing the same way as Phil's Vectra. That made life a lot easier.

Phil got into his vehicle, started the engine and waited until the Mini pulled away. He made a note of the number plate, which he would later check to find a name and address. Not that the driver was necessarily the owner, but it would be a start towards finding who was behind the wheel. The Mini turned right and Phil pulled out to follow. Now it was down to two simple factors: Phil's considerable driving skills coupled with an equally considerable slice of good luck.

Phil's luck stayed good as the Mini took a right at traffic lights and then continued across Piccadilly and away from the city centre.

Fortunately Carrot-top was no boy racer. Phil followed him easily, but at a greater distance than usual, until he got held at traffic lights. He waited calmly for the lights to change back in his favour – there was no point in getting worked up about it.

Edging the Vectra just over the speed limit, he soon had the target in sight again. It was three vehicles ahead of him and Phil saw that it was indicating right.

He followed the Mini into a residential area; maybe Carrot-top was almost home.

The Mini entered a quiet side street and turned left past a small block of flats. Phil took a gamble and pulled the Vectra to a standstill before the turn. If his target was about to park up, he would automatically notice any approaching vehicle as he got out.

Phil switched off the engine and waited for five minutes. If he'd cocked up, there was a potentially long and fruitless search ahead of him. He started the Vectra again and made the turn. His luck really was in: the Mini was parked less than a hundred metres down on the right and there was no sign of its driver.

Phil parked a further fifty metres down the street and then waited a few minutes before getting out and taking an aerosol can from his ready bag. Walking back to the Mini, he held the spray can in his left hand, stretched out his arm and quickly sprayed a line of invisible IR paint all the way from the boot, over the roof and down the vehicle's bonnet.