Most of the guests were already seated by the time Bowman and Kember swept through the doors of the Abbey. They presented their SIS identity cards to a solemn-faced official at the entrance, waited a few beats while he checked in with his boss, then made their way down the long belt of red carpet. Guests sat along rows of chairs either side of the central nave, clutching their orders of service and gossiping amongst themselves in hushed tones. Bowman recognised some of their faces from TV: geriatric musicians, ex-footballers, a handful of respectable actors. The usual faces, wheeled out by the establishment to sprinkle some stardust on the big day.

They passed the quire stalls and reached the crossing. Directly ahead of them was the high altar, dripping in gold. Guests moved around the transepts, mingling with one another. Some chatted in small groups. Others pointed out famous faces across the floor or gazed up at the vaulted ceiling. Royal officials patrolled the aisles, directing guests to their seats.

‘You get into position,’ Bowman said. ‘I’ll check on the principal.’

‘Roger that.’

Kember set off towards Poets’ Corner at the far end of the south transept, making for the entrance to the muniment room. Bowman turned his gaze towards the crowd of guests near the area of seating reserved for foreign heads of state, worthies and senior MPs. He spotted Seguma sitting on the front row, hands planted on his knees, glancing nervously at the entrance. As if he expected a gunman to storm inside the building at any moment. Lungu sat to his right, her long-nailed fingers clasped around her handbag. She looked round, watching the crowd. Seemingly more interested in the other guests than her boss’s welfare.

The president stood up as Bowman approached. He was sweating profusely, Bowman noticed. The tip of his shirt collar was soaked through. There was an unmistakable look of fear in his eyes.

‘Everything OK, sir?’ Bowman asked.

‘Yes, I think so.’ Seguma hastily recovered his composure. ‘What happened out there?’

‘False alarm, sir. One of the police officers on duty fainted.’

‘In this weather?’

‘Must have been dehydrated, sir. Can happen to anyone.’

‘Yes, I suppose so.’ He peered at Bowman. ‘Can I ask a favour?’

‘Sir?’

‘Don’t take your eyes off me from now on.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Where are my men, by the way?’

‘In the holding area. They’re watching the cars. The situation is under control.’

‘Perhaps they should be here as well? It would be safer.’

‘We’ve got two guys covering the main entrance you just came through. Me and Dave will be up there.’ Bowman pointed up towards the loggia on the western side of the transept. ‘No one is getting in or out of here without us knowing about it, sir.’

‘You could take these seats, next to me, perhaps?’