He said, ‘We’re simply here as a precautionary measure. If anyone does try it on, it will be to embarrass you, sir. Nothing more than that.’

Seguma nodded slowly. Bowman was thinking about that momentary look he’d seen in the president’s eyes. Then Lungu hurried over, interrupting his train of thought. She glanced contemptuously at the soldiers before addressing her boss.

‘Excuse me, sir. We need to go through those papers now. The ones I was telling you about?’

‘Yes. Of course.’ Seguma gestured to Bowman and Kember. ‘I was just speaking to these brave warriors.’

The anxious look in his eyes had vanished. He was back to his old self. Like an actor on stage, changing impressions mid-performance. Seguma puffed out his chest and nodded at the soldiers.

‘We will speak again later,’ he said. ‘We can exchange war stories. I’ll tell you the story of how I won the George Cross.’

‘Yes, sir.’

*

They left the suite thirty seconds later. They had offered to run through the details of the new route to Westminster Abbey with the bodyguards, but they had merely shrugged and told Bowman and Kember to discuss it with the driver. They seemed oddly disinterested in the safety of their leader, Bowman thought.

He made his way down to the lobby with Kember. They showed their SIS-issued ID cards to the concierge and asked to speak with Seguma’s chauffeur. The concierge made a call. Two minutes later, a thin stern-faced man with silvery hair trotted into the lobby and introduced himself. A diplomatic driver employed by the local Karatandu Embassy. He had spent the past forty minutes sitting behind the wheel of a stretch limo in the underground car park and seemed grateful for the opportunity to stretch his legs. Kember showed him the maps he’d been carrying, pointing out the directions to the venue, the various escape routes if the principal came under attack. Once they had gone through the details, Bowman and Kember hustled back up to the fourteenth floor and took up their stations outside the suite.

At ten o’clock, Kember checked in with Lomas and Studley, the two guys in position at the Abbey. Bowman watched his partner wander down the corridor, phone clamped to his ear as he searched for a decent signal. He waited until Kember’s back was turned, hastily grabbed a tablet from his pill crusher and popped it into his mouth. He stashed the crusher back in his jacket pocket moments before Kember marched back over.

‘What’s the craic?’ asked Bowman.

‘All clear. The lads are in position. They’re ready.’

Kember stared at his partner, his brow heavily furrowed.

‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’ he said. ‘You’re sweating like a Russian athlete at a dope test.’

Bowman shrugged and said, ‘Just a bit of a chill. Think I’m coming down with a cold or something.’