Seguma remained seated. He was the feared president of Karatandu. A man who commanded absolute loyalty and obedience from those around him. He wasn’t used to being told what to do, especially by hard-faced Scots with harsh Glaswegian accents.

‘Leave the room,’ Mallet said coolly. ‘If I have to ask again, it won’t be nicely.’

Seguma caught the severe look on Mallet’s face, evidently decided that the Cell team leader wasn’t bullshitting, and stood up. He seized his cane and hat, and then Webb and Casey escorted him out of the living room. Mallet frowned at Roidhead, as if noticing him for the first time.

‘Get that scumbag out of here,’ he said to Bowman. ‘Put him somewhere he won’t bother us. Then you and me will have ourselves a little chat with Davey Boy.’

Fifteen

Fifteen

Bowman hauled Roidhead to his feet and shoved him out of the living room. The guy limped along, breathing heavily as they crossed the hallway and pushed through the doors to the staff quarters. Which was bigger than a broom cupboard, but only marginally. Bowman dumped him on the floor, closed the door and backtracked to the living room. Mallet had taken a seat at the dining table facing out across the balcony. He had the laptop set up in front of him, the screen flipped open.

‘Close the door,’ he said to Bowman. ‘Bring Davey Boy over here. Let’s have a friendly chat.’

Bowman grabbed Lang by his arm, marched him over to the table, set him down next to Mallet at the head of the table. Bowman sat in the chair to the Scot’s right. Lang eyed Mallet suspiciously as the latter dragged his forefingers across the touchscreen pad, scrolling and clicking.

‘What the fuck is this?’ he sneered. ‘You want to show me your private porn collection or something?’

Mallet said nothing. He typed, hit Enter.

Lang smirked. ‘You’re not a spook. I can tell. You ain’t got the look. Not posh enough. You must be the muscle. Thicko soldiers, doing the heavy lifting. Am I right?’

Mallet didn’t say a word.

‘Fuck you, then. Miserable prick,’ Lang said. He cocked his head at Bowman. ‘How’s that touch of the flu, son? Better?’

Bowman stayed silent. Mallet tapped another key on the laptop. Suddenly a long melodic ringtone filled the air. Mallet turned the laptop round, training the built-in camera on Lang. After six seconds, the caller on the other end answered, and an eerie, synthesised female voice filled the air.

‘Hello, David,’ the Voice said.

Lang stared at the blank screen, his eyes shrinking to dots. ‘Who is this?’

‘My name is not important,’ the Voice said in its monotonous automated tone. ‘All you need to know is that I’m from the security services.’

‘Yeah? Then show us your fucking face.’