The team members waited in tense silence. Casey drummed her fingers on the polished walnut surface. Loader folded his arms and unfolded them again, fidgeting nervously. Webb sat immobile, looking at the wall, as if he was locked in a staring competition with it and the prize was a million quid.

‘Thirty seconds,’ said Mallet.

Casey stopped drumming her fingers. Loader sat up straight. Webb continued his staring contest with the soundproofed wall. Mallet watched the sweep hand tick round on his watch. Seconds ticking by. Twenty-five seconds later, he reached over and pressed a button on the speakerphone. A sibilant noise bled out of the speaker, filling the room.

Then the Voice spoke.

‘John? Are you there?’

‘I’m here,’ Mallet responded.

‘And your colleagues?’

‘Everyone is present,’ Mallet said. ‘Josh Bowman is here as well. He’s been brought in, as we discussed earlier.’

‘Has he been briefed?’

‘He knows the basics. We’ll update him fully later.’

‘Good.’

The Voice had an echoing, synthetic ring to it. The sort of automated tone you heard at airport terminals and train stations, making important announcements. A speech synthesiser, perhaps, as Casey had suggested. Or a piece of software that did the same thing. Probably encrypted at both ends.

Another layer of deniability.

‘I’ll get straight down to brass tacks,’ the Voice continued. ‘There’s been a critical development in the situation with the Lang brothers. Earlier this evening, there was an attack at the royal wedding reception in Mayfair. I’m sure you’ve seen the reports on the news.’

‘What’s that got to do with our mission?’ asked Casey.

‘The victim was Freddie Lang.’

Loader stiffened. Webb and Casey looked at one another.

‘Freddie’s dead?’ Casey asked.

‘Not yet,’ the Voice replied. ‘He’s currently in the ICU at University College Hospital. But I’m told the outlook is grim. Frankly, it’ll be a miracle if he survives the night. He ingested a significant dose of poison. Enough to kill several people.’

‘Do we know who’s responsible?’

‘Could be anyone,’ said Loader. ‘Let’s face it, Freddie’s got more enemies than I’ve had women.’

‘More than one, Tiny?’ Bowman joked.

Mallet chuckled. Casey rolled her eyes in disdain.

The Voice said, ‘Actually, we know, with reasonable certainty, who carried out the attack.’

‘Who?’ asked Loader.

‘It’s early days. The guys at Porton Down are still running tests. We won’t have official confirmation for some time yet. But we have reason to believe that Lang was poisoned with a nerve agent. Something from the Novichok family. We’re working on the assumption that the Russians are responsible.’

‘But the Russians have used Novichok before,’ said Casey.

‘Correct. Your point being . . . ?’

‘Why would they risk carrying out another attack with the same type of poison? Everyone would know they were behind it.’