To the west, the police officers stood with their backs to the Abbey, watching the sea of excited faces in front of the media centre. To the east, the three officers next to the trees and the guy beside the kiosk were also keeping a close eye on the crowd opposite.

They were twenty metres from the red carpet when Bowman saw a sudden blur moving towards them.

He snapped his eyes to his left and caught sight of the lone police officer near the kiosk. The man had spun away from his three colleagues. Now he was moving across the pavement.

Heading directly towards Seguma.

For a split second Bowman wondered whether the officer was trying to get their attention. Warning them about a possible threat, perhaps. Some random guy with a knife in the crowd. Then Bowman saw the man’s shoes. They were brown, he noticed. Not the standard-issue black shoes of a ceremonial police uniform. He wasn’t wearing gloves, either.

The two bottom silver buttons on his tunic had been undone. Something bulged beneath his tunic.

The officer was ten metres from Seguma.

Now nine. Eight.

Bowman processed everything in a fraction of a second. Directly ahead, Seguma carried on towards the red carpet, Lungu walking alongside him. Neither of them had seen the threat coming from the left flank. Nor had the bodyguards. The three cops at the trees were still looking across the road at the spectators. Oblivious to the drama happening behind them.

The officer slowly moved an ungloved hand towards his navel.

Bowman sprinted towards the assassin.

The man didn’t see him coming. Not until it was too late. His eyes were laser-focused on the target. There was a look of wild excitement on his face. As if he couldn’t believe his luck. Like a contestant on a game show who suddenly found himself on the verge of winning the grand prize. He hadn’t expected to get this far. Now his plan was going to work. He was going to be the big hero. The saviour of a nation.

The man slid his right hand under his tunic.

Bowman snatched his Glock from his holster as he charged towards his target. The assassin had just enough time to look surprised before Bowman clamped a paw on his shoulder and brought his right knee up between the guy’s legs in a rapid jerking motion, crushing his balls. The officer gasped in pain and sank to his knees, momentarily paralysed.

‘Are you all right, mate?’ Bowman said, loud enough for the officers nearby to hear him. Playing the role of concerned citizen. ‘What’s wrong? You feeling OK?’

The hitman croaked. Bowman shoved the Glock against his ribs and lowered his voice to a menacing hiss.

‘Make a move and I’ll fucking slot you.’