‘You go round the back of the car and set up to shoot down the pavement. I’ll go forward and close the range. Put out some smoke so they have to come to us.’

He turned back to Cavendish and the minister.

‘Stay in the car. If they start shooting at the glass, get below window level. Met Control will have armed response on scene in minutes, and this vehicle is bulletproof.’

‘So why are you getting out, if—’

Cavendish, perplexed, Mickey cut him off.

‘Because even this glass won’t stand up to sustained fire at close range. We have to hold them off until Trojan can get on scene.’

Mickey grabbed a flimsy plastic document wallet from the glove box, Shaking out the papers. Then looked at Wade and nodded. ‘Find cover, stay low, give me covering fire.’ He patted the Rattler. ‘I’ll do the rest.’

They both opened their doors at the same moment, slipped out and pushed them shut. The lock mechanisms clicked over, securing Sir Patrick against the people seeking his life. At least for as long as the armoured glass could hold against full auto at close range. Mickey looked around, wincing at the damage to the houses to his left. Casualties a certainty. Looked down at Kev. Eyes shut with the pain. Still breathing but struggling. He knelt, talking quickly into his radio.

‘Romeo Control, Four Six. Second IED detonation. Convoy immobilised, and under automatic weapons attack. All SEG officers casualties. Four Six and Seven Seven deploying on foot towards the junction with Fulham Road. Multiple civilian casualties likely. Estimate two zero seriously wounded.’

Talking while he undid Kev’s jacket and ripped his shirt open. Put the plastic over the shrapnel entry wound and placed his friend’s hand over it.

‘Hold this in place. It’s a sucking chest wound; this will keep you alive long enough for assistance to get here.’

Ignoring the look of disbelief in Kev’s eyes, he patted his shoulder and stood up. Put the Rattler back to his shoulder. Trying to work out how the hell he and Wade were going to hold off a determined attack with automatic weapons.

Not much cover to be had. A park on the road’s right, with a line of trees whose trunks looked pretty attractive as protection against assault rifles. But separated from the road by a high fence of iron railings, topped by spikes. Not sharp, but enough to delay him crossing the obstacle. And the last thing he needed was to still be climbing over it when the assassins came around the corner.

‘Four Six, received. Trojan units ETA your location in two minutes.’