Bowman nodded keenly. Almost every lad at Hereford had met Mallet at one time or another. Or at least heard of him. The guy was something of a mystery. A Glaswegian, born and bred in Govan, he had joined the Regiment in the early 1990s, eventually attaining the rank of colonel. He was rarely seen around the camp, always going on obscure postings overseas, working on shady special projects and team jobs. No one knew where he went, or why. There were rumours that he had deep connections to both Five and Six. The older guys in the Regiment claimed that Mallet had been one of the founders of the Cell. He had done the business in Iraq, Bosnia and Sierra Leone, they said. Along with a bunch of other places. A true hero of 22 SAS.

Another thought crossed Bowman’s mind. If Mallet is personally involved, the situation must be serious.

Mallet smiled at him and said, ‘Hello, Josh.’

Christ, Bowman thought. He remembers me. Bowman had only met him once before. Eight years ago. Bowman had collected his first gallantry award, and Mallet had come over to congratulate him. Eight years, and the guy still hasn’t forgotten my name.

‘Hello, boss.’

‘I’ll have to keep this brief,’ Mallet went on in his strong Scottish burr. ‘Our friends from Counter Terrorism will be here in a few minutes. I understand Lang spoke to you, before he fell unconscious.’

‘Yes, boss,’ said Bowman.

‘Perhaps you can tell me what Freddie said. Word for word, if possible.’

It wasn’t a direct order, but Mallet’s charm and the attentive look on his face made Bowman want to please him anyway. He had the manners of a career politician. That ability to make you feel as if you were the most important person in the room.

Bowman told him everything. Lang’s dying confession. The president’s body double, the secret meeting in Monte Carlo. His desperate plea to save his brother before the Russians got to him.

‘Did Freddie say anything else about this meeting?’ Mallet asked. ‘What his brother is discussing with the Russians, perhaps?’

‘Nothing like that, no.’

‘You’re sure he said nothing else?’

‘I’ve told you everything. Which is a lot more than anyone has told us.’

Mallet frowned. ‘I’m not sure I follow.’

‘We risked our necks for that body double,’ Bowman growled. Anger flared in his chest. ‘Any one of us could have been shot trying to save him. Someone dropped a bollock on the intelligence for this op, and I want to know who.’

‘That’s none of your business,’ Mallet replied sternly.

‘Sorry, boss, but that’s not good enough.’ Bowman felt the rage simmering in his veins. ‘One of our lads could have died tonight. I want to know what the fuck is going on.’

Mallet showed no sign of irritation. He remained perfectly composed. A teacher patiently dealing with an irate student.