‘Two guys in suits,’ Bowman said. ‘Jacked up with comms. Just spotted them. From one of the other BG teams, I think. Something’s wrong with them.’

Studley said, ‘Can you be more specific?’

‘I don’t remember seeing them around any of the VIPs. They weren’t at the Abbey, either. They just don’t look right.’

He gave a brief description.

‘Any idea who they’re working for?’ Bowman asked.

‘We’ll check. Leave it with us.’

The party was in full swing as Bowman made his way back to the table. Kember glared at him. ‘You were gone ages. What took you so bloody long?’

‘Sorry, Geordie,’ Bowman said.

‘Fuck it. Wait here.’ Kember scraped back his chair, stood up. ‘Going for a piss myself.’

He stormed off towards the washrooms. Bowman signalled to one of the waiters to fetch him a Diet Coke. He took a long sip, keeping one eye on the president while he scanned the room for any sign of the guys he’d passed in the corridor. But they were nowhere to be seen.

He got back on the radio. ‘Any word on those two BGs, Bill?’

Studley’s voice hissed in his earpiece. ‘They check out. Both of them. There’s no threat to the principal. Repeat, no threat.’

Bowman said: ‘Are you sure? Could they have been looking at the wrong blokes?’

‘There’s no mistake. Everyone in that room has been cleared. Ignore them. That’s an order.’

Studley clicked off. Bowman sat at the table, listening to the music, eyes locked on the principal. Kember returned to the ballroom four minutes later, wearing a look that could gut a rat.

‘Bloody useless,’ he growled. ‘Toilets are out of order. Had to go all the way over to the other side of the hotel.’

‘That’s strange. They were fine a few minutes ago,’ Bowman said.

‘Someone must have had an accident,’ Kember said, his features stitched with anger. ‘Can’t say I’m surprised. Considering all the shite this mob are stuffing up their noses.’

Bowman stayed quiet, drinking his Coke while he watched the guests. Twenty metres away, to the left of the dance floor, Seguma roared with laughter at something one of the guests said. He sank another slug of whisky, liquid splashing down his front. To the north, Princess Amelia sat at the head table with the older members of the royal family. Her new husband stood to the right of the dance floor, boozing with his City chums and ogling the arse of a young waitress. He saw Lang across the room and waved him over.

Lang stumbled towards him, unsteady on his feet. He brushed past the dance floor, almost fell and steadied himself against a chair. Someone handed him a glass of water. Lang held it and swayed on the spot. Too much drink, thought Bowman. Or he’d overdone the cocaine.