The screen cut to a side angle, showing the full depth of the stage and just how much ground Nureyev was covering with his sautés and jetés, then back to a face-on view, this time in a close-up just tight enough to show the beads of sweat that were trickling from his temples to the creases of his mouth, and then again to the opposite side of the stage. Whoever was editing the live broadcast knew what they were doing. The camera cuts of a particularly complex combination of sissonne-jeté-­assemblé-sauté Nureyev moved through with ease were perfect, apart from a brief moment at the very top of Nureyev’s assemblé when three bright flashes filled the screen, like flares set off in front of the nation’s eyes.

Laing was halfway through asking what had caused the sudden interference when Williams knocked him out by slamming his forearm into his stomach, doubling Laing over and then smashing his face into his cognac glass and the coffee table it sat on.

A second later, Williams was behind Holland, his arm wrapping round the director general’s neck in a chokehold. Williams’s face was completely still and blank as Holland desperately tried to claw his way free, and then slowly started to lose consciousness. Then Williams dragged Holland’s chair out from under his desk and, tapping even further into some hidden well of strength, tipped the older and much larger man over his shoulder and carried him out of his office.

The rest of the fifth floor was empty, so there was no one to stop Williams carrying Holland all the way to the lift and down to the underground car park to Holland’s Bentley, the only car that was still in its space.

Its doors were unlocked. Williams eased Holland’s body off his shoulder and propped him against the back seat. He removed the director general’s tie, used it to bind his wrists together, then shoved him over onto his side. Finally, he walked round to the driver’s door, got in, opened the glove compartment to retrieve the set of copied keys and the Makarov pistol that had been left inside for him, and drove up the exit ramp.

Chapter 52

Chapter 52

‘Stop!’ Knox shouted as he saw the woman step out of the shadows towards the light of the stage.

She didn’t.

She might not have heard him over the orchestra’s rise and fall, but somehow Knox sensed that she had, and that she knew he was after her.

He clambered over the fake chimneys blocking his path to the stage with Bennett in tow.