The younger woman moved away, relaying orders over her police radio. Bowman turned his attention back to the shooter. He was still badly winded, groaning and retching. He jabbed the gun against his side, drawing another sharp hiss of pain.

‘Lie down. On your fucking chest.’

The man dropped down, hugging the ground.

‘This is a mistake,’ he said.

‘Face down,’ Bowman said. ‘Hands at your sides.’

The man did as he was told.

‘Please. I didn’t do anything.’

‘Shut up. Move and I’ll put a hole in your guts. Got it?’

The man didn’t react. Bowman shoved the pistol harder into his side.

‘OK, OK.’ The man winced.

Bowman kept his finger on the trigger while Ginger Beard pulled the man’s arms together behind his back. The officer grabbed a pair of plasticuffs from his utility belt, slipped the looped cables over the guy’s knuckles and cinched them around his wrists, pulling them tight. Then Ginger Beard and the older woman rolled him on to his back, hiding the ties from view. Bowman re-holstered his pistol and snatched the weapon concealed beneath the man’s tunic. A Glock 19 semi-automatic. The same basic specs as the Glock 17, but smaller. More compact. Bowman thumbed the release catch on the side of the Glock, ejecting the clip. He dropped the mag in his left jacket pocket and stuffed the gun down the front of his trousers.

‘Ambulance is on the way,’ the woman with the heart-shaped face said as she jogged back over. ‘Be here any minute.’

Bowman nodded at the shooter.

‘Wait here with this prick. When the ambo shows up, bundle him on to the stretcher. Keep it quiet.’

‘What if he struggles?’

‘Give him another dig in the bollocks. That should shut him up.’

Bowman sprang to his feet.

‘Where are you going?’ Ginger Beard asked.

‘I need to liaise with my team. Tell them what’s happened.’

He turned away, leaving the three officers to form a protective cordon around the assassin, shielding him from the view of the crowd across the street. Already some of the spectators near the media centre had switched their attention to the curious incident unfolding near to the kiosk. Several of the uniformed police officers were also glancing over at their comrades, straining to see what was going on.

As he neared the western entrance, Bowman spoke into his covert radio.

‘Principal on site,’ he said. ‘There’s been an incident. Repeat, there’s been an incident.’

There was a pause, and then a Scouse voice fizzled over the secure comms.

‘We’re coming out now. Meet us at the entrance.’

Bowman forced himself to walk calmly towards the Abbey, in spite of the tension throbbing in his chest. Jallow and Deka stood beside the West Door. Kember was there too, having raced over from the holding area. He was deep in conversation with Lomas and Studley. The two other guys on the Counter-Attack Team.