Andy McNab - Meltdown

'So back to my first question: why didn't you get rid of him?'

Will provided the answer. 'What could we do? He knows too much. We gave him time off, on full pay, to clean up, and we thought he had. From what we were told last night and the fact that he hasn't shown this morning, we have to assume that we were wrong.'

Teddy sneered. 'No, you were wrong!'

The twins glared at each other while Fergus waited.

Will looked at his watch. 'We're meant to be leaving in a couple of hours. Where's Storm with those coffees?'

As if on cue, they heard footsteps on the metal staircase outside the office. There was a sharp knock on the door and then Storm came in without waiting for an answer, carrying a cardboard container with four takeaway coffees of different varieties. She looked a little pale and her eyes were tired and drawn. But she was smartly dressed for the trip to Barcelona in a black designer trouser suit over a white blouse. Fergus knew from Danny's account of the fight outside the club that Storm must be badly bruised from the kicking Albie had given her, but outwardly, at least, she was giving nothing away.

Storm went over to the twins first. 'Your usual,' she said, taking two large cardboard beakers of cappuccino from the container and placing them on the desk. She turned to Fergus. 'And an Americano for you, wasn't it?'

Fergus nodded and took his coffee. Storm smiled at him slightly nervously before turning away with the last of the coffees and heading towards the smaller desk in one corner of the room.

'We're still in conference, Storm,' said Teddy. 'Would you mind taking your coffee outside? Check the coaches are OK, will you?'

If Storm was thrown by the dismissal, she didn't let it show. She kept up her smile as she spoke. 'Isn't that Albie's job?'

'Albie isn't here. Yet.'

Storm took her coffee from the container and headed for the door, but Will gestured for her to wait. 'Just a minute, Storm. There's something I wanted to ask you.'

She stopped, her face showing not the slightest concern. 'Mmm?'

'The fact is, Albie's gone missing. We've got no idea where he is.'

'Really?' said Storm, raising her perfectly plucked eyebrows. 'Well, that is a worry. He's meant to be coming with us to Barcelona.'

'Yes, it's a worry. When did you see him last?'

Storm thought for a moment, looking as though she was trying to be as helpful as she could. 'It was yesterday. Mmm, yesterday afternoon, here at the yard. He seemed fine then.'

Will nodded. 'Thanks. I just thought it was worth asking.'

'Sorry I can't be more help.'

She glanced at Fergus as she left the room; he gave her the slightest of nods, reassuring her that he was keeping her secret. He took a long gulp of his coffee and listened to her footsteps on the staircase, wrapped in thought, wondering…

Then he put the beaker down on the desk and stood up. 'I've got an hour to find Albie and sort things out.'

'Sort things out?' said Will. 'What exactly does that mean?'

'It means I'll do what's necessary,' said Fergus, moving towards the door. 'He's a liability – he threatens the whole of your operation. We can't afford that, can we?'

He sat in the car, taking in his surroundings. It was almost like Coronation Street – identical rows of redbrick Victorian terraced houses on either side, with the railway line behind the right-hand row.

But none of these houses had brightly painted front doors, shiny doorsteps or new double-glazing. Around half of them were boarded up, covered in graffiti and ready for demolition. A stone panel set high up in one wall dated the terrace precisely to 1897. It looked as though that was the last time the decorators had been round.

He got out of the car, ready to do the walk pass. The target house was number 13. With any luck, the problem that needed sorting was lying inside in a drug-induced stupor.

Odd numbers were on his right, so he walked on the left side of the street to get a longer and earlier view of the house. He needed extra 'eyes on' time, which also allowed him a fuller perspective on the target.

The walk pass was about a lot more than just locating the front door. He had to take in as much information as possible because he wouldn't be doing it again. He wouldn't even look back once he had passed the house; third party awareness dictated that it wasn't an option.

A group of kids walked towards him; shaved heads and holes in their jeans. They flicked their cigarettes and spat on the pavement, trying to look hard as they kicked out at two abandoned Tesco trolleys.

He kept his eyes down as they passed, shouting at one another and mock fighting. He looked up again, taking in everything. Even if it wasn't registering right now, he knew his brain was logging it all and would help him later.

A car pulled out up ahead as he checked a number on the far side of the road: 27 – not long now. He began to count down the houses: 25, 23… it had to be done in case there were no more numbers to ID the target.

Inside those houses, behind dirty net curtains, was the third party, curtain twitchers who might very well be looking at him right now, wondering who was the stranger walking down their street.

21… 19… He counted down three more houses and got his first look at the target house. He kept moving at the same pace, his head facing forward but his eyes half right and on the target.

There were no signs of life. The curtains at all four windows were drawn back behind net curtains. There was no smoke coming from the chimney and no milk on the doorstep. Not that that meant anything; Albie wasn't exactly the hot-milk-infront- of-the-fire sort of guy. There was no newspaper sticking out of the letter box and all the windows were closed.

He didn't know if Albie lived alone or with family or mates, but he needed any information that would help him discover whether Albie – or anyone else – was inside the house.

The top left upstairs window had condensation on the pane. It might mean that Albie was asleep in there. The window on the right was clear. That was probably another bedroom. And empty.

Crossing the road between two parked cars opposite number 15, he turned to his left to pass the target door. The windows were covered in grime and the net curtains were much the same. The ones in the upstairs windows sagged.

The paint was peeling from the door, but the good news was that it was secured by a simple Yale pin tumbler lock. Of course, that didn't mean that Albie, or someone else, hadn't thrown a couple of bolts on the other side.

He would discover the answer to that soon enough because he knew now that the front door would be his only possible entry point during daylight hours. There was no way he could check out the back because he would easily be seen if he started jumping about on the railway track.

He continued to the end of the street, then went into a rundown corner shop and bought a two-litre bottle of Coke and a pair of washing-up gloves.

Just across the street was a small park he'd clocked on the way in. It was a good place to do what he needed to do. Sitting on a bench, well away from a couple of homeless guys and some more kids who were smoking either cigarettes or dope, he pulled on the rubber gloves and then poured out the Coke onto the ground.

The blade on his Leatherman was as sharp as a razor. Quickly he cut off the top and bottom of the plastic bottle and then tore off the label so that he was left with a large, clear plastic cylinder. Then he sliced down the cylinder so that the plastic could be flattened into a rectangular shape. Next he put the piece of plastic down on the grass at his feet and cut out the largest circle the rectangle would allow.

The circle automatically wanted to curl in on itself. That was fine – it was easier to put in his pocket rolled up, and besides, if the plastic didn't curl up, it wouldn't open the door for him.