But of the man himself, as Mickey had expected, no sign at all. They hadn’t seen him at all during the tour so far, a genuine novelty. All he wanted, it seemed, was to have his meals served in his private lounge and to be left alone. Not that Mickey viewed that as any sort of hardship, given his lounge was three times the size of the one he and Roz lived in, but all the same.

He crossed the room, staying outside of the lamps’ light puddles, and touched the master control to switch them off. Leaving the room in late afternoon gloom with only the fire’s flickering light. And stood in the near-dark, allowing his eyes to adjust. The immaculately maintained lawn was a dull grey, the trees beyond it so dark as to be more black than green. A moment of peace. Wade intruded in his earpiece, cheerful voice and clinking china.

‘Code 99 is green, repeat code 99 green. Bags out milk in, opening the biscuit tin.’

He smiled. Ever the joker, Wade, when he knew he wouldn’t be overheard by senior management.

‘All received. I’ll see if I can blag some cake from the kitch…’

And froze, staring hard through the picture window. Out into the near-monochrome world outside the house. There was someone moving through the trees. A presence made indistinct by the gloom, but unmistakable. Nature, Mickey knew, just didn’t do straight lines. And the person in question was carrying something very straight. And very black. At the edge of visibility, dressed in some sort of camouflage. Not a gardener, finishing up for the day in the last of the daylight. For one thing the gardener and his apprentice would be in their shed, cleaning up their equipment. And for another, there was no urgency in the figure’s movement. No hurry to get finished up and away. Instead, the cautious, wary advance of an intruder.

‘Eyeball, repeat eyeball, west side. One person, in the trees, carrying…’ Was it a camera with a long lens, or something more dangerous? ‘…potential long rifle.’

Wade came back crisply, all levity abandoned. ‘All received. Do you need reinforcement?’

He stared at the slowly advancing figure for another long moment. ‘Negative. Just be ready with the external security lights.’

He eased down into the cover of the nearest sofa and drew the Glock. Watched as the intruder went down on one knee. And raised whatever it was that they were carrying.

‘Well it’s either a bloody long lens or a rocket launcher.’

Christ, he wished Cavendish would stop doing that. The major was standing in the doorway behind him, looking out at the kneeling figure.

‘Lens.’

‘And you’re sure about that?’

‘There’s only one of them. It’s not a man. And that’s not big enough to fire a rocket. Plus she’s just put it to her eye.’