They pulled away, leaving Loader behind the wheel of the E-Class. He would keep eyes on the front of the apartment block, watching for any sign of Lang’s acquaintances or trouble from the police, while the rest of the Cell turned the screw on Lang.

Four minutes after leaving the parking garage, Bowman piloted the Range Rover back down the ramp. He berthed the wagon in the parking bay, and the three operators disembarked. The appearance of two strangers in the car park wouldn’t strike the security staff as unusual. Webb had already told the concierge that more guests would be arriving later that morning to ink the contracts. Anyone watching the footage would conclude that Lang had picked up a pair of business associates and ferried them back to his apartment to get the paperwork signed.

Bowman touch-tapped Lang’s key card against the control panel. The lift doors hissed open, the car rocketed them up to the eighteenth floor. They paced down the private hallway, and Bowman knocked three times on the front door to Lang’s apartment, giving the correct signal to Webb. He cranked open the door, pushed inside the foyer a step ahead of Mallet and Casey. Led them across to the living room.

The temperature dropped as soon as Mallet swept inside. Like the devil had just entered the room. Or the moment the sheriff stepped into the saloon to arrest the villainous cowboy. Lang stared warily at the cruel-faced Scot with the ruthless blue eyes and the wave of silver hair. Mallet didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. The mobster and the tyrant both seemed to understand they were in the presence of a terrible man. Like coming face to face with an eight-hundred-pound gorilla. A primitive reaction, stretching back millennia, to the days when their ancestors roamed the savannah.

Roidhead slumped heavily in the armchair, half dazed, his bovine face lacquered with blood. Mallet glanced briefly at him, then rested his gaze on Seguma.

‘Step outside the room, sir.’

The president folded his arms defiantly. ‘I’m going nowhere. Not until someone tells me what the hell is going on. Who are you? What are you doing here?’

‘We work for the British security services,’ Mallet said. ‘These three are my associates. We know about your meeting with the Russians later today. We’ve got orders to arrest David Lang.’

Seguma’s mouth went slack for a moment, before he swiftly recovered.

‘This is an outrage. I have done nothing wrong.’

‘You’re not in any trouble,’ Mallet said. ‘We just need to ask your mate a few questions. Straighten a few things out. Now leave us, sir.’ He motioned to Webb and Casey. ‘These two will wait with you in the study until we’re ready to talk.’