They were twenty metres from the red carpet when Bowman saw a sudden blur moving towards them.
He snapped his eyes to his left and caught sight of the lone police officer near the kiosk. The man had spun away from his three colleagues. Now he was moving across the pavement.
Heading directly towards Seguma.
For a split second Bowman wondered whether the officer was trying to get their attention. Warning them about a possible threat, perhaps. Some random guy with a knife in the crowd. Then Bowman saw the man’s shoes. They were brown, he noticed. Not the standard-issue black shoes of a ceremonial police uniform. He wasn’t wearing gloves, either.
The two bottom silver buttons on his tunic had been undone. Something bulged beneath his tunic.
The officer was ten metres from Seguma.
Now nine. Eight.
Bowman processed everything in a fraction of a second. Directly ahead, Seguma carried on towards the red carpet, Lungu walking alongside him. Neither of them had seen the threat coming from the left flank. Nor had the bodyguards. The three cops at the trees were still looking across the road at the spectators. Oblivious to the drama happening behind them.
The officer slowly moved an ungloved hand towards his navel.
Bowman sprinted towards the assassin.
The man didn’t see him coming. Not until it was too late. His eyes were laser-focused on the target. There was a look of wild excitement on his face. As if he couldn’t believe his luck. Like a contestant on a game show who suddenly found himself on the verge of winning the grand prize. He hadn’t expected to get this far. Now his plan was going to work. He was going to be the big hero. The saviour of a nation.
The man slid his right hand under his tunic.
Bowman snatched his Glock from his holster as he charged towards his target. The assassin had just enough time to look surprised before Bowman clamped a paw on his shoulder and brought his right knee up between the guy’s legs in a rapid jerking motion, crushing his balls. The officer gasped in pain and sank to his knees, momentarily paralysed.
‘Are you all right, mate?’ Bowman said, loud enough for the officers nearby to hear him. Playing the role of concerned citizen. ‘What’s wrong? You feeling OK?’
The hitman croaked. Bowman shoved the Glock against his ribs and lowered his voice to a menacing hiss.
‘Make a move and I’ll fucking slot you.’
Bowman kept the muzzle pressed against the assassin as he glanced round. Seguma, Lungu and the two Karatandan bodyguards had stopped in their tracks several paces from the Abbey and turned back towards the kiosk, their faces stencilled with confusion.
‘Get him inside the Abbey!’ Bowman barked at the two bodyguards. ‘Now! I’ll meet you at the door.’
Jallow and Deka snapped out of their stupor. The latter grabbed hold of the president by his bicep, hustled him towards the West Door. Lungu hurried after her boss, struggling to keep up in her high heels. Bowman watched them pass through the wrought-iron gate and disappear into the Abbey. Then he looked over at the police officers near the trees.
‘Give us a hand here!’ Bowman yelled.
The officers rushed over. One of them knelt down beside Bowman and the assassin with the bruised balls. A thickset guy with pale skin and a beard the colour of rust. The two female officers took a knee either side of him, forming a tight protective semicircle. The older woman was fortyish, with short blonde hair and dark circles under her eyes. Her colleague was fifteen or twenty years younger, Asian, with a heart-shaped face and narrow pointed chin.
‘What’s going on?’ the guy with the ginger beard said. ‘Is someone hurt?’
Bowman reached with his free hand into his jacket pocket and waved his SIS identity card at them.
‘I’m with the security services. Listen carefully. Do not react to what I’m about to tell you. Plasticuff this fucker, then get him out of here.’
Ginger Beard’s eyebrows knitted together.
‘Why? What—’
‘This guy isn’t a cop. He just tried to assassinate our principal.’
‘Is anyone hurt?’
‘Everyone’s fine,’ said Bowman. ‘I spotted him before he could fire. The principal is inside the Abbey, but I need your help suppressing this bastard.’
‘What do you need us to do?’ the older woman asked.
‘Get him cuffed. Put him on his back, so no one else can see them. Do it quietly. We don’t want to cause a panic. Is there an ambulance nearby?’
‘I can call one,’ the woman with the heart-shaped face said.
‘Do it. Get this guy on it. Don’t make a big fuss. Pretend he’s fainted. Load him onto a stretcher and take him away to the nearest police station. Get him in a cell and put him on suicide watch.’
‘What about our bosses? Someone will need to tell them what’s happened.’
‘We’ll take care of that. The guys I’m working with will notify the security services. They’ll send someone down to the station to receive him. Just make sure he gets taken away without making a scene.’
The younger woman moved away, relaying orders over her police radio. Bowman turned his attention back to the shooter. He was still badly winded, groaning and retching. He jabbed the gun against his side, drawing another sharp hiss of pain.
‘Lie down. On your fucking chest.’
The man dropped down, hugging the ground.
‘This is a mistake,’ he said.
‘Face down,’ Bowman said. ‘Hands at your sides.’
The man did as he was told.
‘Please. I didn’t do anything.’
‘Shut up. Move and I’ll put a hole in your guts. Got it?’
The man didn’t react. Bowman shoved the pistol harder into his side.
‘OK, OK.’ The man winced.
Bowman kept his finger on the trigger while Ginger Beard pulled the man’s arms together behind his back. The officer grabbed a pair of plasticuffs from his utility belt, slipped the looped cables over the guy’s knuckles
