The column tooled south for half a mile, dominating the road in a loose line formation. The stretch limo in the lead scout position, the three bodyguards in the sedan four metres behind, Bowman and Kember bringing up the rear in their Discovery. Riding almost bumper to bumper with the S-Class in front. The roads around Buckingham Palace, Pall Mall and Victoria Street had been closed off to traffic, but the police had been notified of the alternative route being taken by President Seguma and the small convoy was swiftly waved through.

As they carried on, Bowman felt a vague anxiety creeping through his bones. He wondered when he’d be able to take his next pill, how long he’d have to wait. The anxiety gnawed at him as they motored south-east on Vauxhall Bridge Road. Kember was driving on the right side of the road, ready to overtake the two vehicles in front in case of an immediate threat to the president. Making sure they owned the road. Like a fat guy in the street, dominating the pavement, not allowing anyone to get past on either side.

‘Look at that shit,’ Kember said, pointing with his eyes at the sedan. ‘Those tossers are too far back from the principal.’

Up ahead, the limo eased to a halt at a set of traffic lights. The sedan carrying the bodyguards stopped two whole car lengths from the lead vehicle.

‘Bloody amateurs,’ Kember said as he stopped behind the sedan. ‘They should be riding bumper to bumper with the principal. If it kicks off, they’ll be too far away to do anything.’

Both soldiers automatically lowered their hands to the chrome door handles. Standard operating procedure when the target went static. If the principal came under attack, you could spring the handle and instantly debus from the wagon, rather than having to fumble with the lock. A tiny detail but in the heat of an ambush it could save a second or two. The difference between saving the principal’s life or failing to stop an assassin.

The lights stayed red. Bowman checked the side mirror, the pavement. He was looking for anyone approaching the limo, on foot or from another vehicle. He figured the most likely method of attack would be a gunman riding pillion on a motorbike. Easy enough to execute. Pull up alongside the limo while it was static. Empty a clip through the window, speed off again. By the time either bodyguard team had debussed, the killers would be long gone.

The lights changed.

Six metres ahead of the Discovery, the stretch limo set off again. Four metres further back, the sedan was slower off the mark. The limo started pulling ahead, increasing the distance between the principal and the three bodyguards in the second vehicle. Six metres, then eight. Then the sedan set off, moving slowly past the lights as it made no attempt to catch up with the limo.

‘Fuck this,’ Kember said.