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said O’Sullivan, picking up the second Ingram.
    ‘Fifteen hundred apiece,’ said May. He tapped the sub machine-guns in the second case. ‘The Stars are a bit cheaper. Same calibre, same size magazine, a little bit heavier, rate of fire is slower but you can still let rip faster than you can blink.’
    ‘You keep pushing the Spanish gear, don’t you?’ said Corben. ‘You pick up a job lot?’
    ‘Spanish armed forces have been using them since 1985,’ said May. ‘Gang-bangers and Hollywood movie producers are the only ones who use the Ingram.’
    ‘We’ll take the Ingrams,’ said O’Sullivan. ‘And two silencers.’
    ‘You planning on going to war?’ asked May.
    O’Sullivan ignored the question. He ran his eyes over the guns he’d selected. ‘Four thousand nine hundred, right?’
    ‘Let’s call it a round five grand,’ said May. ‘I’ll give you fifty per cent on the Ingrams if you bring them back unfired.’
    O’Sullivan grinned. ‘They’ll be fired,’ he said.
    ‘I don’t get you, Conor,’ said May. ‘You fret about the Glocks because they eject their rounds, but the Ingrams spit them all over the place.’
    ‘Horses for courses,’ said O’Sullivan. ‘The shorts are for our next job, the Ingrams are for payback that’s been brewing for some time. Anyway, what do you care?’
    ‘Just curious,’ said May.
    ‘Yeah, well, you know what curiosity did to the cat,’ said O’Sullivan. ‘And it’s four thousand nine hundred.’
    ‘If you want the cases, it’s five grand,’ said May.
    O’Sullivan shook his head sadly. ‘You’re a cheap bastard.’
    ‘It’s a business. I’ve got overheads and expenses. Do you want the cases or not?’
    ‘Yeah, I want the cases.’
    ‘Good choice,’ said May. He packed the weapons O’Sullivan had chosen and clicked the cases shut. ‘Now, if we could get the cash sorted . . .’
    O’Sullivan nodded at Corben. Corben retrieved the Manchester United holdall, hefted it on to one of the tables and unzipped it. He took out five bundles of fifty-pound notes. Lomas picked up one and flicked through the notes slowly. He nodded at May.
    May grinned and held out his hand. ‘Nice doing business with you, Conor,’ he said.
    ‘Mutual,’ said O’Sullivan. The two men shook hands.
    Lomas and Corben looked at each other with undisguised dislike.
    ‘Guess they’re not going to kiss and make up,’ said May.
    ‘Guess not,’ said O’Sullivan. He picked up the case containing the shotgun with his right hand and the holdall with the left, then motioned for Corben to carry the rest. The two men walked towards the door.
    ‘If you need anything else, you’ve got my number,’ May called after them.
    ‘Yeah, we’ve got your number,’ muttered Corben.
    ‘Be nice, Ian,’ said O’Sullivan.
    They walked out into the open air. Corben put down his cases and used the remote to open the boot. They loaded the cases, then climbed into the car. O’Sullivan grinned. ‘That went well,’ he said.
    The two men watched the Jaguar drive away. ‘That went well,’ said the Scotsman.
    ‘Until you pulled a gun on them,’ said his companion. ‘What the hell was that about?’
    ‘He was talking about using the metal detector on us. Shit would well and truly have hit the fan if he had done. Anyway, it worked out all right in the end, didn’t it?’
    The Jaguar pulled out of the industrial estate and accelerated towards the nearby motorway. The two men walked back into the warehouse. They took off their jackets and tossed them on to the tables.
    They heard footsteps at the door and turned to see Charlotte Button walking confidently towards them, brushing a lock of dark chestnut hair behind her ear to reveal a moulded plastic earpiece. ‘Well done, guys,’ she said. She was wearing a belted fawn raincoat and her high heels clicked on the concrete floor.
    An Asian man in his late twenties had followed her. Amar Singh was Button’s technical specialist. He was