‘Even if I were minded to tool you up, I don’t see how I could. Every weapon in the package is signed out to an officer. And we tend to be a little sensitive about signing for weapons and then letting anyone else get their hands on them.’

‘Bit of a career-ending moment?’

‘Pretty much.’

Cavendish nodded, smiling brightly as he shrugged. ‘Oh well, you don’t ask, you don’t get. Never mind. Right, I’ll go and make sure he’s going to be ready on time. I don’t imagine the Americans will be all that happy to be kept waiting.’

63

The package pulled out dead on time. With Mickey just about as on edge as he’d ever been in eleven years of Prot service. Although he wasn’t quite sure why that was. Because if he’d ever been in a better-protected convoy, other than Operation Rampage, he was struggling to recall it.

At the heart of the package, the principal’s car. Inside the Sentinel, Mickey, Wade, James Cavendish and a very glum-looking Sir Patrick. Collectively pretty much nuke-proof, behind armour and bulletproof glass.

In front of the lead car, Easy Rider. Kev led them through the route, in constant communication with his outriders. While the Working Bikes lived up to their name. Operating in pairs to a well-practised routine. Two riders blocking off the capital’s moderate late evening traffic at each junction. While the other two followed the convoy through as rear-guard. Then rocketed past the Sentinel towards the next set of lights, their mates falling in behind. Brake lights glowing red, as the new advance guard came to a halt on either side of the junction. Blue lights flickering, hands raised. Whistles piercing the late evening’s relative quiet. Rinse and repeat.

Progress toward the American embassy was proceeding at a steady fifty miles per hour. Wade driving while Mickey listened to the evening’s radio traffic for any sign of trouble en route. His nerves soothed a little by having the MCX to hand.

Wade drove smoothly, keeping the talk to a minimum. Which, with a senior member of the government glowering at the back of Mickey’s head, was almost monosyllabic. Mickey’s earpiece feeding him the continual flow of information from the outriders, as they worked their routine. All trace of the usual Job humour erased. Just clipped commentary from Easy Rider as they sailed past momentarily halted traffic. A voice spoke in Mickey’s ear.

‘Romeo Four Six, Romeo Control. Be advised, Cromwell Road eastbound is closed. Suspected terrorist incident in progress, emergency services attending and road closed. Advise re-route to Secondary.’

The best laid plans, et cetera. Mickey didn’t have the time to be irritated.

‘Acknowledged Control, Four Six concurs, re-route to Secondary. Easy Rider, Romeo Control advise switch to Secondary.’