Buzzcut kept the BMW purring along, sticking to a steady thirty miles per hour as they headed towards Whitechapel. Ripper country. He wondered, again, where the heavies were taking him. He thought about the pills, too. If Henderson and his mates had knocked on his door sixty seconds later, he would have had time to snort the pill. Instead, he’d have to wait until after his meeting with Mallet. However long that took . . .

They passed the Tower of London, hit a junction the size of a great lake and then Buzzcut steered into an empty taxi bay in front of the old Royal Mint. He slit the throat of the engine.

‘What’s going on?’ Bowman demanded. ‘Where’s Mallet?’

‘Patience, sunshine,’ Williams said, blandly.

Henderson’s eyes shot forward. Bowman looked in the same direction and descried a figure standing in front of the southern gatehouse, smoking a cigarette.

Mallet.

He took a final drag on his cancer stick, dashed the butt and circled round to the rear of the vehicle, then knocked twice on the passenger window. Henderson buzzed down the glass. Mallet leaned through the opening and glanced briefly at Bowman before he nodded at the heavies.

‘Right, you lot,’ he said. ‘Get out. Stretch your legs. Give us a few minutes.’

The heavies obeyed without question. Partly because they were lower down the food chain than Mallet. But also because the guy talking to them wasn’t the kind of person you wanted to piss off. Mallet stood back while Henderson and his mates removed themselves to a spot two metres from the BMW. Then he dropped into the back seat, slamming the door shut behind him. The hubbub of London reduced to a faint hum. Bowman waited anxiously.

Here it comes, he thought.

The end of my career.

Mallet stared out of the window at the old Royal Mint.

‘Shame about this place,’ he said in a low mutter, as if talking to himself. ‘This building is a big part of our history. They moved the Mint here from the Tower, two hundred years ago. Back when our ancestors were busy slogging it out with Napoleon. Two years ago, we sold it off to the Chinese. Beijing will use it for their new embassy.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘We used to keep the enemy at the gates. Now we welcome them with open arms. All we care about is whether they’ve got deep pockets.’

Bowman looked at the ex-SAS man in puzzled silence. Is this why Mallet dragged me out of my hotel room? To give me a history lesson at two thirty in the morning?

‘Why am I here?’ he demanded. ‘What do you want with me?’

Mallet stared levelly at him.

‘I’ll cut right to it,’ he said. ‘I’m here to give you an opportunity, Josh. The kind that doesn’t come around very often.’

‘Opportunity for what?’