Lang gave a derisive snort. ‘Don’t make me laugh. How many Russians have been killed in London over the years? You couldn’t stop them if you tried.’

‘We can do better than your own men,’ the Voice argued. ‘We can offer you a private jet back to the UK, a safe house, round-the-clock protection for you and your family. If you cooperate.’

‘I’ve earned some protection already, haven’t I? All the work I’ve done for you in the past, I must have some credit left in the bank.’

A sharp jolt shot up Bowman’s spine and tingled on the back of his neck. ‘You’ve been working for Six?’

‘’Course I fucking have.’ Lang’s voice dripped with contempt. ‘I’ve been supplying you people with information on the president for years. The people in Ken’s inner circle, his business dealings, his meetings with foreign leaders. Ken hasn’t taken a dump in the last decade without your mates knowing about it.’

Bowman glanced over at Mallet, but the older man showed no hint of surprise. Did he already know about Lang’s involvement with Vauxhall? Bowman wondered. What else isn’t he telling me?

The Voice said, ‘We’re not interested in the past. We’re interested in the future. Start talking, and we’ll get you and your family into a safe house.’

Lang’s face hardened. ‘Nah. I’m grateful for the warning and all. But you can untie me now.’

‘You’re making a serious mistake,’ the Voice warned.

‘Don’t you people have anything better to do?’ Lang jutted out his chin. ‘Here I am, a respectable businessman, enjoying a nice weekend with an old friend, doing nothing wrong, and you come barging in here with your guns and your threats. It’s fucking outrageous. I should sue.’

Mallet leaned back in his chair, rubbing his lightly stubbled jaw. ‘Suit yourself,’ he said. ‘Play it that way if you want. But you can forget about getting that OBE you’ve been after.’

The Voice cut in: ‘We know you’ve been paying a private lobbying firm to help you get on the Honours List. They’ve been pressing your claim hard, emphasising your charitable ventures in Karatandu. We have the power to make sure it doesn’t happen.’

Lang snorted loudly. ‘Is that supposed to be a threat?’

‘We’re serious.’

‘You can’t do nothing. I’m a good boy. I pay my taxes. If you had anything on me, you would have used it by now.’

‘Are you sure about that?’ Mallet asked.

He leaned across the dining table and smiled coldly. Lang shifted awkwardly in his seat.

‘We know about the secret parties. The ones you’ve been hosting at your mansion in Essex.’ He wagged a finger. ‘The ones with the kids.’