“Ishaq told us that Elizabeth would be accompanied by two men,” Gabriel said. “He told us—”

Graham Seymour held up his hand. “Don’t go any further, Gabriel. It’s madness.”

“We wait for the shaheeds to arrive, Graham. And then we kill them before they can kill Elizabeth.”

“We?”

“What do you think you’re going to do? Shoot them like snipers from a long way off? Shoot them like gentlemen from twenty paces? You have to let them get close. And then you have to kill them before they can hit their detonator switches. That means headshots at close range. It’s not pleasant, Graham. And if the gunmen hesitate for an instant, it will end in disaster.”

“The Met has a unit called SO19: the Blue Berets. They’re special firearms officers, trained for this very sort of thing. If memory serves, we sent them to Israel for training.”

“You did,” said Shamron. “And they’re very good. But they’ve never been placed in a live situation like this. You need gunmen who’ve done something like this before—gunmen who aren’t going to fold under the pressure.” Shamron paused, then added: “You need gunmen like Gabriel and Mikhail.”

“Gabriel can barely stand up,” Seymour said.

“Gabriel will be fine,” Shannon said without bothering to consult him. “Let us finish what we started.”

“How are you going to be sure it’s really her?”

Gabriel looked at Robert Halton. “If anyone can tell, it’s her own father. Put him in the yard on the north side of the Abbey with a miniature radio. He’ll be able to see anyone approaching from Whitehall or Victoria. When he sees Elizabeth, send the signal to us. Mikhail and I will take care of the rest.”

“There’s one thing I don’t understand,” Seymour said. “How are they going to get Elizabeth to walk to her own execution?”

Gabriel thought of what Ibrahim had said the night of his death in Denmark. “They’ll tell her she’s about to be released,” he said. “That way she’ll go willingly and do exactly what they tell her.”

“Bastards,” Seymour said softly. He glanced at his watch. “I take it you have all the firearms and ammunition you need?”

Gabriel nodded slowly.

“What about communications?”

“They can borrow radios from our embassy security staff,” Carter said. “Our DS agents work routinely with the Met on protective details. We can all tie in on the same secure frequency.”

Seymour looked at Gabriel. “What do we do about him? He can’t go to Westminster looking like that?”

“I’m sure we can find something for him to wear here,” Carter said. “We have two hundred people down in the basement who came to London from Washington with suitcases filled with clothing.”

“What about his face? He looks bloody awful.”

“Fixing his face, I’m afraid, would require a Christmas miracle.”