Everything they had done so far – from Knowles’ inauguration onwards – had been risky. That was the nature of the beast. But the decision to dispense with Dale Victor in such an extreme way? This one was on him, Cunningham had to admit that. And Knowles was right. While the president had played no part, what Cunningham had done could do more damage to Knowles than any other part of their agenda.

The realisation forced Cunningham to hold his tongue. At least for now. He turned to Jack Meyer.

‘Tell the president what he wants to know.’

Meyer shifted in his seat. Cunningham knew why. They were in this situation because of poor decisions, most of which had been made by Meyer’s own son. He did not want to expose his own boy to the wrath of the US president.

He took a moment before he spoke. When he did, Cunningham saw that Meyer had taken care about where he chose to start.

‘Well, Mr President, we have . . . we have certain relationships with certain . . . organisations in Europe, as well as at home.’

‘You mean criminal organisations?’

‘Yes, Mr President.’

‘Mafia?’

‘Something like that, Mr President. And these . . . friends of ours . . . they have access we don’t have. People inside European prisons.’

‘So what you’re telling me is that we have people in this Belmarsh place.’

‘Yes, Mr President. And we’ve been promised that Nizar Mansour won’t make it to the end of the day.’

Knowles nodded.

‘Which means,’ Cunningham interjected, ‘by the time you’re tucked up in bed, there will be a dead Muslim baggage handler who has confessed responsibility for the bomb and to whom all incidental evidence will point. Which, from your point of view, is problem solved.’

‘What about the loose ends?’

‘What loose ends?’

‘There are always loose ends, Kelvin. What about the two lawyers we saw leaving the court on TV? By the looks of it, those men just spent a whole morning speaking with this Mansour guy. You think he didn’t tell them something?’

Cunningham glanced from Knowles to Meyer, then back to Knowles. He had already considered this problem. And he had wanted to avoid the discussion. It was Cunningham’s preference to present solutions found, not solutions planned.

This time he had no choice.

‘Unless they sat in silence for those hours, yes, we have to assume he told them something.’

‘I can confirm that, sir.’

Knowles and Cunningham turned as one, towards Meyer.

‘What do you know?’

‘One of my agents, sir. Frank Hart. He made an approach, outside the courtroom.’

‘Why?’ Cunningham interrupted.

‘Why what, sir?’

‘Why did he make an approach? Why draw attention to himself? What the hell is wrong with your team over there?’

‘They thought you’d want to know who had spoken to Mansour ASAP, sir. And Hart didn’t identify himself. They don’t have any reason to connect him to the White House.’

Cunningham nodded, though his anger remained obvious. He was still concerned at the recklessness of Romeo Meyer’s team, but at least no names had been given this time. He pushed his irritation aside.