Bowman was flagging badly now. It seemed as if epochs had passed since he’d last slept. He found it hard to concentrate on the road. His vision was juddering, the Hilux kept slipping in and out of focus. The world had a weirdly dreamlike quality to it. To make matters worse, the cravings were beginning to sneak up on him. The air con in the Land Cruiser was on full whack, but Bowman was sweating beneath his webbing and plate armour. He felt the ache deep in his muscles, a sharp scissoring pain shooting through his body, tingling in his fingertips and toes. Five hours since he’d dropped a pill. Too long. His mistake.

Another two hours until we get to the mansion, Bowman thought to himself. Four o’clock in the morning. Keep pushing on. Hang on until we get there.

Then you can drop a couple of Lang’s magic pills.

The road was empty. They saw no other cars on the road, no gangs of rebel soldiers or pedestrians. An hour later, the forest began to thin out. The convoy trundled on for another ten miles, past pockets of mangrove swamp and impoverished fishing villages clinging to the banks of the river. Mallet checked his phone for a signal. Still nothing. Webb and Loader dozed in the back seat. Casey sat wedged between them, alert, tense, on edge.

The jungle ended abruptly. Like a curtain being lifted from a stage. One minute they were driving through the swampy suffocating dark of the forest. The next they were leaving the treeline behind them and rolling across a low grassy plain, so flat you could play billiards on it. A quick glance at the console told Bowman that they were less than half an hour from the target location. We’re getting close to Rogandu now.

Mallet checked his phone again, got a weak signal and dialled Six. He waited several long beats. Then he hung up, swore under his breath and sent a brief encrypted message.

‘Still no answer,’ he said.

Bowman shot him a look. ‘Why aren’t they picking up?’

‘Fuck knows. Could be anything.’

‘Maybe they’re busy briefing the strike force,’ Casey said. ‘Giving them the latest intelligence on the rebellion.’

‘It’s half two in the morning in London. They might be off getting pissed on espresso martinis as far as I know.’

Loader said, ‘It ain’t like Six to go silent. Usually, you can’t stop that lot from gassing off.’

‘We can’t worry about that now. Keep driving. I’ll try them again once we reach the mansion.’

Bowman stuck close to the Hilux. Behind them, the Unimog headlamps burned like halos in the rear-view mirror. The convoy steered away from the river and cut south across the plain. Fifteen minutes later they hit Rogandu.