‘I can’t say right now. That will be explained later. All I can tell you is that if you agree to do this job with us, you’ll be doing your country a great service. This is a highly sensitive mission, lad, and you’re made to measure for it.’

Bowman looked at him doubtfully. ‘What do you mean?’

Mallet tapped the side of his head with a thick finger. ‘You know mobsters. Better than most people. You grew up around them, you went to school with them. You worked undercover in gangs with the Met. That means you know what makes them tick.’

‘That’s why you’re interested in me? Because I’ve hung out with a few gangsters?’

‘It’s one of the reasons, aye. There are others.’

‘Like what?’

Mallet sucked on his cigarette one last time and tossed the butt out of the window. The burning tip somersaulted through the frigid night air. He closed the window.

‘I’ve seen your file,’ he carried on. ‘The Cell keeps a close eye on the rest of the SF community, naturally. We’re always on the lookout for people with particular skills. People such as yourself.’

Bowman shook his head. ‘I’m no different to the other blokes at Hereford.’

‘I disagree,’ Mallet said. He rested his hands in his lap and stared out of the windscreen. ‘You did your undercover work in the Met. Then you left the force and did three years in Special Forces Support Group. Then the Regiment. Multiple tours in Afghanistan, Iraq, followed by a two-year secondment in the Special Reconnaissance Regiment, so that’s your surveillance skills sorted. You’ve done a posting with E Squadron, so you’ve got experience of working with Vauxhall and Thames House. That makes you unusual, you see.’ Mallet hesitated. ‘I know what happened to your family, too,’ he added in a low voice.

Bowman felt something cold and wet slither down the base of his spine. Everyone at Hereford knew the story, the tragedy that had wrecked his life fifteen years ago, but they never mentioned it in his presence. They knew better.

‘What those Albanian thugs did to your wife and daughter was despicable,’ Mallet continued quietly. ‘No husband or father should ever have to deal with that.’

Bowman closed his eyes for a moment. The violent images flashed across his mind again, tormenting him. He saw the blood splatter, the mutilated bodies. His wife and daughter. Murdered.

‘There’s no need to . . . to bring that up,’ he stuttered. ‘There’s not a day that goes by without me thinking about . . . what happened. You can’t imagine . . . ’

His voice trailed, he looked away.

Mallet said, ‘This is your chance for revenge. You can’t bring your loved ones back, but I’m offering you the next best thing. The opportunity to avenge their deaths.’