There was a swift exchange between Mavinda and the older guard. Mavinda pointed to the vehicles behind him, gestured at the mansion. The guard back-stepped from the Hilux and barked an order at his comrade. The bug-eyed soldier. The latter relaxed his stance and lowered his rifle, waved them through the gate.

The convoy passed under the huge archway in single file, the Hilux leading the way. The driveway dipped down slightly, then rose on a gentle incline and hooked around a fountain surmounted with a bronze eagle. The estate looked neglected, thought Bowman. Weeds poked through the cracks in the blacktop. The lawn was dotted with crumbling statues and withered trees. There was a half-derelict pagoda to the left of the drive, overlooking a rancid pond. An ornamental garden to the right, sloping down towards an irrigation ditch. The mansion itself looked like it had seen better days. The marbled columns were dulled and weathered. Sections of the ornate parapet were badly damaged. The once-gleaming white façade had buckled and flaked away in places, revealing the crumbling brickwork beneath.

‘This place is frigging huge,’ said Loader.

‘Almost big enough to house your entire family, Tiny,’ Mallet said.

‘Piss off, John. I ain’t got that many kids.’

‘Depends on your definition of “many”, I suppose. What are you up to now, anyway? Twelve, thirteen?’

‘Eight,’ Loader replied. ‘But we’re expecting in June. A boy.’ His face swelled with pride.

‘That’s the first I’ve heard of it,’ said Mallet.

‘You didn’t ask.’

Mallet looked back at him. ‘What do you think I am? Your fucking therapist? I’ve got enough on my plate without trying to keep on top of your ever-growing brood.’

Loader looked hurt. Mallet grinned at him.

‘Cheer up, Tiny. I’m just joking. Congratulations.’

‘Thanks, John.’

‘Let’s hope he doesn’t inherit your looks, eh?’ he went on. ‘Otherwise the poor sod will have even less luck with the women than your sorry arse.’

The convoy pulled up behind a trio of mud-spattered Land Rover Defenders parked in front of the mansion. Bowman killed the engine, the team got out, Major Mavinda and his three subordinates climbed out of the Hilux, and then the rest of the platoon hopped down from the back of the Unimog.

Two more soldiers stood guard at the entrance. They stepped aside as a stumpy, bull-necked officer strode out of the mansion and made a beeline for Major Mavinda. He seemed to know Mavinda. Bowman sensed an easy familiarity between the men as they greeted one another. They swapped a few lines in the local lingo, and then Mavinda introduced the stumpy officer to the Brits.

‘This is Colonel Joseph Lubowa,’ he said. ‘Commander of the Karatandu Presidential Guard.’

‘John Mallet.’ He extended a hand, indicated the others. ‘This is my team.’