Another ten minutes passed. Just as Morland was beginning to wonder if the fact that the Mi-24s had closed in on the VIPs meant the operation had somehow been compromised, there was the unmistakable crack of a Stinger, followed by a second. Through the canopy above him Morland saw two flashes of light, followed by two snaking smoke trails. He lost sight of the heat-seeking missiles, but there was no doubt about the two loud explosions.

“Splash two Hinds . . . Yes. Got the bastards!” Morland wanted to punch the air in triumph.

0830 hours, Saturday, May 27, 2017

10 Downing Street, Whitehall, London

FOURTEEN HUNDRED MILES away in the PM’s “den” in Number 10, Trev Walker sat with the Prime Minister, William Spencer, in front of a TV carrying breaking BBC News reporting on a live link, helpfully subtitled into English, from Russia Today. They watched as the President landed by helicopter at a bunker-like building at Ligatne, deep in the Latvian forests. Escorted by the burly, jowly Commander of Western Military District, the two men walked over to where the bodies of the Latvian so-called terrorists responsible for shooting down a Russian Mi-24 Hind were on display.

Neither man said anything as the camera panned along the bodies, laid out in a row, a selection of the weapons that they had been captured with piled up behind them.

Then the camera switched to the President, who eyed them coldly, unmoved by the twisted, bloodied corpses.

For a moment, Walker thought he was going to kick one of them to display his contempt. If he had intended to, the President controlled himself and instead, he prepared to speak to the film crews; eyes narrowed, face furious.

Next moment there were two loud explosions in the sky behind the President. As if hypnotized, the live feed from the TV cameras first found and then focused on the two fireballs and then began to track the pieces of burning helicopter as they fell to the ground.

Then the camera turned back to the President, as if looking for his reaction to the shock attack that had just taken place above them.

What they filmed instead was the natural reaction of close-protection officers anywhere. Two beefy bodyguards leapt on the President, pushing him to the ground, before covering him with their bodies to protect him as best they could.

The camera continued to run and it was as if the world stood still for long seconds. Soldiers cocked their assault rifles and turned, ready to repulse an attack that failed to come; journalists lay on the ground, in the mud, unsure what to do next. Finally, pistols still cocked and ready, the bodyguards got up, followed by a furious President; now covered with mud and swearing at them, pushing one of them away, as he still tried to do his duty and shield him with his body.