‘You’ve been using your brother-in-law to score pills,’ Lang said. ‘Carter is a good boy, he’d always help out his family. But I was surprised when I found out he was selling stuff to you. I didn’t know they allowed junkies in the army.’

Bowman didn’t reply. Lang took a step towards him and lowered his voice.

‘Some free advice, son. In business, it always pays to understand your enemies. Know their weak points. Now I know yours, don’t I?’

He patted Bowman on the shoulder with a grizzled paw. A hand that had crushed windpipes and beaten faces to a bloody pulp.

‘It’s a good job Carter works for me,’ he went on. ‘Otherwise, who knows what I might do with that information? An ex-copper snorting opioids?’ He smiled cruelly. ‘You could end up in trouble.’

Just then Bowman spied two guys lingering close to the ballroom door. They were dressed in plain dark suits and rigged up with covert earpieces. Bodyguards, perhaps. The shorter guy was medium height and build, with the kind of clean-shaven corporate face you forgot ten seconds after seeing it. The second man was a few inches taller than his partner and maybe fifty pounds heavier. His head was shaped like a bucket with a pair of holes drilled into the side. Both men glanced up and down the corridor, as if waiting for someone.

Lang glared and poked a finger at his chest. ‘I want to know what’s going on here, Bowman. What are you and your mates up to?’

Bowman sighed. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t talk. I need to get back to work.’

Lang stared at him with dark slitted eyes. Then his face relaxed into a crafty smile.

‘You secret squirrels.’ He formed his right paw into an imaginary pistol and pretended to shoot Bowman in the head. Then he winked and said, ‘See you around, son.’

He turned and headed into the bathroom. Bowman watched him leave, Lang’s threat replaying in his head.

Most guys in the Regiment knew about his background, growing up in an area infested with gangsters. How he’d escaped a life of crime and violence to join the police, and later on the army. But if Kember or anyone else discovered the true nature of his relationship with Lang – his reliance on his brother-in-law’s contacts to supply him with powerful opioids – then his career was over.

He started back down the corridor, towards the ballroom.

The two men in suits were moving briskly towards him. The bland-faced man and the guy with the bucket for a head. They swept past Bowman, glancing at him before they continued down the corridor. As Bowman passed them he noticed a grey-blue strap dangling from Bucket Head’s pocket. The guy had something bulky hidden under his jacket, Bowman realised. Not a gun. Something bigger.

He carried on towards the ballroom and spoke into his integrated mic.