Mallet turned to the third member of the team. The dark-haired woman with the strawberry lips.

‘Captain Alex Casey,’ he said. ‘She’s also from SRR.’

Casey smiled at him. She had a small mousy face, with a button nose and a slender neck, but the big green eyes were constantly alert, observing everything, missing nothing. Her side-parted hair was the colour of coffee grounds.

‘Alex is our electronics specialist,’ Mallet said. ‘She’s in charge of our surveillance equipment, comms, nano-drones. Anything technical, Alex can take care of it.’

‘You can take care of my handset any day of the week, love,’ Loader said.

Casey stared at him with flat eyes. ‘That’s not funny, Tiny. It doesn’t even make sense.’

She spoke in a clipped Home Counties accent. She sounded more like a Pimlico book editor than a member of Britain’s covert reconnaissance unit.

‘Alex was in 18 Signals before she joined SRR,’ Mallet added. ‘Which means she’s good at all the cyber stuff too. If you’ve ever looked at porn, she’ll know about it.’

Bowman nodded thoughtfully. The men and women of 18 Signals handled secure comms for UKSF. It was the largest regiment in the British Army, with a dedicated selection course lasting for six months. The signallers were a talented bunch, highly educated, tech-savvy.

Mallet said, ‘I’m sure you lot would love to sit around bumping your gums, but we’re on the clock. We’ve got a team briefing with Six in two minutes.’

‘Who are they sending down from Vauxhall?’ asked Bowman.

‘No one,’ said Loader. ‘It’s all done remotely, boyo. She just speaks to us through that.’

He tipped his head at the speakerphone in the centre of the desk.

‘Don’t you see her face?’ said Bowman.

Casey shook her head quickly. ‘We don’t even know her name. Assuming it’s a woman, that is. It could just as easily be a man’s voice disguised through a modulator.’

‘What do you call her?’

‘The Voice,’ said Loader. ‘What else?’

Bowman pursed his lips. He’d worked with the security services on numerous ops in the past, during his time with E Squadron, and later with the Wing. He’d met with MI6 officers for mission briefings in safe houses, sometimes in hotel suites, sometimes elsewhere. But whatever the situation, he had always known the identity of the officer in charge. He wondered: Why would Six go to such extreme lengths to hide their identities?

I don’t know. But we’re about to go on a mission, and we don’t have a clue who we’re really working for.

Mallet checked his watch again. ‘Mic is going live in one minute,’ he said.