‘Cheers, Kev. Right, there’s been no mention of any threat intel by Liaison. So I think it’s safe to say that we can predict a quiet enough run into London on a Sunday evening. You’re all the best at what you do, which means I don’t need to remind you how to do it. Any questions?’

Kev, raising a hand.

‘This had better be good.’

‘Given you let me down with the last wager I put on you, do you think you see your way to throwing a few fucks—’

He fell silent, looking at the doorway. There’s that famous James Cavendish sneaky-beaky, thought Mickey. Turning to confirm that it was indeed the major who’d caught Kev’s eye.

‘Thought I heard voices.’ James smiling faintly at Kev’s discomfiture. ‘Do carry on, Sergeant Bale.’

Mickey nodded. ‘Good timing, Major.’ He gestured to the equerry. ‘This is Major Cavendish. The minister’s right-hand man and passenger two for this package. In the unlikely event that it does get sporty he’s one of the two people I’d prefer you not to shoot.’

‘Two?’

Mickey gave Kev a look that told him to act his age. The major raising a hand in greeting to the assembled officers.

‘Do you have a moment, Michael?’

He slipped back out of the door, and Mickey stood to follow him. Ignoring the silent moue and snigger from Kev. Thinking: That’s easy for you to say, given you’ll be “Mr” Kev before you know it.

In the corridor Cavendish was sober-faced.

‘We’ve had a second-level alert from Liaison. Some chatter among the cells of jihadist suspects in West London. Nothing to worry about, apparently. But they thought we ought to know. Arse covering, I suppose.’

Mickey waited for him to continue, sensing the intelligence to be a pretext to discuss something else. Unfinished business from before?

‘I was about to ask you what the form is for arming private secretaries, when the principal is being moved in a bulletproof vehicle. Except your assistant commissioner interrupted before I got the chance to do so.’

Mickey smiled, shaking his head.

‘This package is going to be escorted by enough armed officers to form a football team. In the unlikely event of it going to the races they’ll be forming a disorderly queue to get some unexpected range time, I’d imagine.’

Cavendish nodded, apparently unfazed by the knock-back. ‘No harm in asking.’

‘And you’d have quite liked the feel of a 9mm in your hand again?’

The major shrugged. ‘I’m long past getting any feeling of power from firearms. It’s just that I’m used to having a little more control of my own destiny.’

Mickey shrugged. Not without sympathy. But simply powerless to grant the other man’s wish.