‘I am certain we will find that Mr Cesky’s agents have secured support from one of my rivals,’ said Shah. ‘I recognised two of the men back at the intersection. Freelancers. And not in the way Mr Pappas is a freelancer. These men are scavengers. Not skilled or reliable enough to secure permanent employment with any reputable contractor, they sell their services on the grey market, doing work like this, one or two steps away from the agency holding the original commission.’

The driver swung hard left, taking them off the main drag past the airport and away from the thickening chaos of the traffic banked up there. Jules was not familiar enough with the city’s layout to know where they were headed, but down in her gut she suspected the destination was New Town. Shah leaned forward to mutter instructions to the driver, who sped up to the point where every course correction, every small turn of the wheel to whip them around a slower car, threw the Volvo’s occupants back and forth across the cabin.

Ahead of them, Julianne could just make out the rear of two late-model cars. Streamlined and low to the ground, they wove through the stop-start traffic like barracudas streaking through schools of slow-moving guppies. Flickers of flash suppressors could be seen as tracer rounds zipped towards them. One of the shooters emptied a clip into a passing civilian vehicle, causing it to slam into oncoming traffic.

‘Evasive,’ the radio crackled.

‘Oh shit,’ said Jules.

The driver cranked the wheel, taking their car across two lanes. He ran up the shoulder until he was clear of the collision site, before whipping back into the proper lane. The scenery outside changed in brief strobes of blurred imagery. The Volvo screamed through the wide, dusty streets of a factory and warehouse district before bursting out onto a wide four-lane arterial road that swept alongside the upper reaches of the harbour.

‘Speed increasing,’ the radio said. The pursuit vehicles were zeroing in on the fleeing hit squad. ‘Closing. Fifty metres. I’m going to try and ram him . . .’

A black pepper cloud suddenly enveloped one of Shah’s Landcruisers, shredding the passenger compartment into disassociated bits of glass, flesh, metal and bone. Bursts of flame brewed up around the undercarriage as the vehicle turned over on its side. The other pursuit SUV whipped around their fallen comrades before ramming the offending vehicle off the road.

‘Stay with that one,’ Birendra ordered. ‘We’ll take the last one.’

‘Grenade launcher,’ Shah remarked, as they passed the burning ruins of his men. ‘This is most unfortunate.’