The man stood a couple of paces inside the room from the terrace. A stick-thin guy with an assortment of good luck charms draped over a threadbare Elvis Presley T-shirt. His AK-47 was trained on the terrified figures scrambling for cover across the room. Bowman saw the president’s brother lying in a pool of blood, a triangle of bullet holes in his chest. His wife, the president’s sister-in-law, shielded the two boys with one arm, her other wrapped around the wailing hysterical form of one of the twin girls. Seguma’s wife was curled up in a tight ball, hugging her screaming baby tight to her chest. As if she could protect the boy from the stopping power of a 7.62 × 39 mm bullet.

Then Bowman saw the other girl.

Marie.

She lay limp on the floor, blood oozing out of her belly and head. Her dead hands clutching her blood-splashed toy bear.

In the same frozen moment, Elvis spotted Bowman crashing into the room. He turned towards the new threat and fired. The AK-47 barked. Bowman tucked into a roll and shifted to the right as the rebel let off a three-round burst, shooting from the hip. The rounds thudded into the wall six or seven inches above Bowman, putting holes in the president’s personal photo collection. Bowman came up from the roll in a rapid blur, then angled his weapon at the rebel. No time to properly aim. He just centred the barrel on Elvis’s mass and pulled the trigger twice.

The rounds smacked into Elvis in a quick one-two. The first nailed him in the crotch, shredding his balls. The second bullet plugged him in the chest. His vital plumbing. The rebel let out a pained grunt as he toppled backwards. He crashed against the door and landed on his back, his weapon clattering to the floor beside him.

Bowman stood rooted to the spot, unable to move, staring helplessly at the girl. He heard voices in the corridor.

A moment later, Loader charged into the room ahead of Mallet. Casey, Webb, Gregory and Lubowa ran in after them, weapons drawn. They caught sight of the two bodies and froze. The president’s sister-in-law ran over to her dead daughter, howling in grief and anguish. The two boys hugged their mother, tears streaming down their terror-stricken faces. The other girl screamed for her dead father.

Loader dropped down beside the bodies and checked them for pulses. Shook his head slowly.

‘What the fuck happened?’ he demanded.

‘Bastard snuck in from the terrace,’ Bowman said. He felt sick, had to force the words out. ‘There was nothing I could do . . . ’

‘Just the one?’

Bowman nodded.

‘Must have been a lone raider,’ Webb said.

‘Or a scout for the Machete Boys,’ said Mallet. ‘Sent here by his mates to see if the place was worth looting. He would have spotted the lights.’

‘How the fuck did he get in?’ Loader said.