But even as he shook his head, a voice of doubt crept up on Bowman. He remembered the briefing back at the Shed. Mallet’s last-minute decision to go with the team. We need boots on the ground, he had said. But maybe he had a more sinister reason for tagging along with the team to Monte Carlo. Maybe Mallet had orders of his own from the Voice. Make sure Lang doesn’t come back alive.

‘You should be careful, Josh,’ Gregory went on. ‘John’s a great soldier, but he’s slippery. None of the guys in the Regiment ever trusted him . . . and neither should you.’

Bowman stayed quiet for a beat. He was beginning to see the dark side of the Cell. The extreme lengths they would go to in order to defend British interests at home and abroad. Poisonings, executions. Covertly funding the torture of foreign nationals. Bowman thought he had joined the Cell to fight mobsters. But he was beginning to realise that the truth was far more complicated than that.

Gregory offered him the cattle prod.

‘Here,’ he said. He grinned manically. ‘Give it a try. A bump to the bollocks is always good fun, I find.’

Bowman looked at his old boss and shivered. He thought: Mike actually enjoys this shit. He’s getting a kick out of torturing people.

‘Hit him, man. Make him scream. Go on.’

Bowman said nothing. He just stared at Gregory. The man was unrecognisable from the charismatic officer Bowman had once fought alongside in B Squadron. The years of working for Ken Seguma, doing his bidding, had warped his mind. He might have been a first-class officer in the past, Bowman thought. But he’s just a deranged psychopath now.

‘You’ve lost your fucking mind,’ he said.

‘Don’t give me that nonsense.’ Gregory pointed to the chained rebel leader. ‘The general and his men killed your mate. Christ, they almost wiped us all out. Don’t you want to get your revenge?’

Bowman looked down at General Kakuba and felt a pang of nausea. The leader of the KUF whimpered hysterically through his gag and looked up at Bowman with wide pleading eyes. His face was swollen with bruising, his lips were bleeding heavily. At some point during the torture session, the man had voided his bowels. The air reeked of shit, piss and sweat.

He grabbed the electric prod.

Gregory beamed with delight. ‘That’s better! Now crack on with it,’ he said, rubbing his hands expectantly. ‘Let’s get started. Don’t hold back.’

Bowman held up the prod. The general gave out a muffled scream. His eyes were so wide they looked as if they might pop out of their sockets.

‘Well, what are you waiting for?’ Gregory said.

Then Bowman hit his old boss with the shock end.