‘At Galkin’s mansion, down the coast in Antibes. Lang is due to meet the Russians at midday local time. We’ve been planning the operation to arrest him for the past week. Now we’re being green-lit.’

Bowman nodded. He’d worked on plenty of similar ops in the past. He could imagine how the planning would have taken shape. First the Cell would have devised an immediate response. A crude plan, simple but effective. Like a guy walking into a bar and punching someone in the face. The plan would have been adapted and honed each day as new information came to light, allowing the team to put together a planned response. Which would be more sophisticated than the emergency plan. They would keep on working on it each day, fine-tuning the details until the team got the go-ahead.

His eyes focused on another photo on the board, next to Seguma’s family members and advisers. A sun-bleached face, long and lean, with long dark hair and a bushy beard. He wore a short-sleeved khaki shirt and stood next to a couple of soldiers in combat fatigues.

‘I know that face,’ Bowman said. ‘That’s Mike Gregory. He was my old OC in B Squadron. I served under him in Iraq.’

‘He had less facial hair back then,’ Mallet said with a grin. ‘He’s hairier than Bigfoot these days.’

‘What’s he doing mixed up in all of this?’

‘Mike is the chief security adviser to the president. He’s been in the job for the past three years. I assumed you knew.’

Bowman shook his head. ‘I’d heard he was operational in Karatandu, doing jobs on the Circuit. But I didn’t know he was working directly for the president.’

‘Mike had a contract to protect one of the big mines. When the job ended, Seguma kept him on. He’s one of a handful of confidantes the president trusts. Maybe the only one, outside his immediate family. Seguma doesn’t take a dump without consulting him first.’

‘He’s done well for himself. Good for him.’

‘You’re a fan of his?’

‘Mike’s one of the good guys. Best officer I ever had. Saved my arse on Selection.’

Mallet knitted his brow. ‘How’s that?’

‘He was with Training Wing at the time. I got into a fight one night in a pub in Hereford. It wasn’t my fault, I was minding my own business, but some drunken idiot wanted to have a go. One thing led to another and the police showed up and arrested me. I could have been RTU’d for that, but Mike stepped in and defended me.’ Bowman frowned. ‘He’s not in any trouble, is he?’

‘We don’t think so. Mike is on the fringes of this thing. He’s holding the fort while his boss is in Monte Carlo.’

‘How did you find out about the meeting in Antibes?’