Giving management the options. Their job to make the decisions, Kev’s to execute.

‘Bronze Command, Easy Rider. Your recommendation?’

Mickey and Wade exchanged knowing glances. Not every day that Prot management asked for advice. Perhaps Sally Williams was destined for great things.

‘Easy Rider, Bronze Command. Potential for further blockage if we turn off route is significant.’

Yeah, Mickey thought. Like playing snake on your mobile, with the longest snake in the game. And you try three pointing a Beast in a two-lane street with parked vehicles on either side. See where that gets you.

Kev was still talking. ‘Recommend hold in place and deploy appropriate personnel as required.’

Put like that, it made perfect sense. Other than the fact that it left the President of the United States going nowhere. With the Polish Embassy on one side and Pret A Manger on the other. And the great British public on both sides, of course. The latter being what would be bothering Bronze Commander. And putting the shits right up Jasmine Chen, Mickey reflected happily.

He looked out of the window. Seeing a pretty even distribution between two different sorts of people on the pavement. One half of them getting on with life. Mostly oblivious to the twenty-vehicle convoy, just traffic and therefore ignored. The other half having realised what was happening. And displaying their interest in a variety of ways. Phones, obviously. Pictures would be hitting social media with a range of comments from humorous to disgusted. Some looking more interested in expressing their amusement or angst at POTUS’s presence in a more physical manner. The Beast’s windows capable of being fully opaqued, of course. And just as well, because of the sorts of behaviour the man inside the vehicle inspired. But no-one likes to see a nose ring giving him the finger from two feet away. Whether the nose ring in question can see their target or not.

‘All Rampage callsigns, Bronze Command.’ The woman on the spot. With a decision to make. ‘All Rampage vehicles will hold position and await route clearance. Harriers, deploy and maintain public order. Remaining Rampage callsigns, await further instruction.’

Oh great. Mickey looked in the wing mirror next to him. Seeing the Harriers debussing from their BMWs as ordered. Eight big men, identically dressed in combat boots, black trousers, blue T-shirts and midnight blue bomber jackets. Only needing neck and face tattoos to look the full Combat 88. And not, he noted with interest, wearing the yellow covert caps he knew they carried as identification. Marked with “Police” in strong black lettering. Experts in crowd control and “violent person tactics” they might be, but maybe a little common sense?