‘This is Sarah Truman, reporting for ITN outside Westminster Magistrates’ Court in London.’

Knowles switched off the screen as the footage cut back to the studio. He looked towards Cunningham, an expression of fury on his face.

‘This is a mess. This is a monumental mess.’

‘It hasn’t worked out exactly as we’d planned it, no,’ Cunningham conceded. He glanced towards Meyer as he spoke. A look of blame. They both knew at whom that blame was directed. And that, when all this was done, there would be consequences. ‘But it could be a whole lot worse.’

‘It hasn’t worked out exactly as you’d planned? And exactly what was the plan, if you don’t mind me asking?’

‘Do you really want to know?’

‘Yes, I want to know!’

Knowles was angrier than Cunningham had ever seen him. For a moment, and for the very first time, he saw the special forces killer instead of the politician.

It put Cunningham on the back foot.

‘The plan was to kill Mansour at his home yesterday,’ Cunningham explained, taking care to give no sign of being ruffled. ‘All the evidence was already in place to point to him as a lone bomber. The British police will be finding it over the course of the next few days. So when it was discovered he had been tracked and killed by a US Secret Service deployment, it would have been justifiable homicide. A minor blip with the Brits over an operation on their soil, yes, but it’s the Brits. What’s the worst that would have happened? A sternly worded letter?’

Knowles looked unimpressed.

‘So what did happen?’

‘We’re still getting to the bottom of that.’ Another glance at Meyer. ‘But it seems that somehow Nizar Mansour escaped and handed himself in at the nearest police station.’

‘You’re kidding me, right? A team of trained special agents couldn’t take out a baggage handler?’

‘Like I said, we’re still getting to the bottom of it. What matters is where we are now. Nizar Mansour is in custody. He’ll be taken to a prison called Belmarsh. The place where the Brits keep all their terrorism suspects.’

‘And?’

‘And the wheels are already in motion.’ Cunningham’s moment of uncertainty had passed. His confidence was back.

‘And what exactly does that mean?’ Knowles demanded.

‘Why so many questions, Mr President?’ Cunningham spat out the final two words. An intentional show of disrespect. He was beginning to feel irritated by the stream of questions. ‘You’re usually happiest when you’re blind to the steps I have to take.’

‘That’s because the things you do don’t usually come directly back to my door,’ Knowles replied. ‘But this time? This shit can’t go anywhere else.’

‘Self-preservation. How noble of you, sir.’

‘Don’t take that tone, Kelvin.’ Knowles’ temper was returning. ‘I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask for any of this.’

Cunningham opened his mouth to respond. To remind Knowles of their arrangement. But as he did he realised the truth of the president’s words.