Kember nudged his partner, inclining his head towards the man chatting with the president.
‘That’s one of the Lang twins, isn’t it? Those Cockney mobsters.’
‘Freddie,’ Bowman said. ‘That’s Freddie Lang.’
‘How can you tell?’
‘He’s the one with the scar on his cheek.’
‘You ever run into them when you were working undercover?’
Bowman laughed drily. ‘Not a chance. The Langs are too smart to get involved in street-level trouble. They keep their hands clean.’
‘What’s Freddie doing here, anyway?’
‘He’s a friend of the groom. Freddie Lang is mates with all those City boys,’ Bowman said. ‘Makes himself out to be a property tycoon.’
‘I wonder what he’s doing talking to the principal.’
‘The Lang brothers are a big deal in Karatandu,’ Bowman explained. ‘Have been for years. They own loads of real estate down there. Hotels, holiday resorts, diamond mines, shopping malls. They own half the country.’
‘They must be worth a fucking fortune.’
‘They are. But they’re still a pair of evil fuckers. Freddie and his twin brother have been involved in crime since they were out of nappies.’
Kember stared at him. ‘How d’you know so much about them?’
‘I grew up in the same area as the Langs,’ said Bowman. ‘Romford. In Essex. They lived a few streets over from us.’
Kember looked at him with widened eyes. ‘You knew the Lang brothers?’
‘Not personally. But everyone knew about them. The Langs were practically royalty around those parts when I was growing up. Everyone knew about them. Everyone feared them, too.’
‘You ever get mixed up in all of that?’
‘A few of my mates did, but I managed to stay out of it. I was one of the lucky ones.’ He shrugged. ‘Maybe things would have turned out differently, if I hadn’t escaped.’
‘You must have some stories.’
‘I’ve heard one or two,’ Bowman admitted.
‘Are the Langs as bad as people say?’
‘Worse. They were animals. They ruled through fear. David, the older one, he was the brains behind their operations. But everyone knew Freddie was a psychopath. If he came into the pub, you finished your pint and got the fuck out of there. One time, he didn’t like the way the barman looked at him. Freddie dragged the guy outside, broke his legs and beat him within an inch of his life. Poor bastard ended up in a wheelchair, pissing and shitting into a bag.’
‘Christ. I thought growing up in Sunderland was rough.’
‘The Langs are nasty fuckers,’ said Bowman. ‘They might be rich, and they like to pretend they’re legit businessmen these days. But don’t be fooled. Those two are as cruel as they come.’
As they looked on, Seguma said something and pointed up at Bowman and Kember. Look, his body language appeared to suggest. Those are my two SAS bodyguards. Freddie Lang slowly lifted his gaze to the gallery. He caught Bowman’s eye and frowned. Then he turned back to Seguma, pointed at Bowman and uttered a few words. As if asking a question. Seguma nodded. Lang looked up again and stared at Bowman for several long beats, his frown deepening.
Bowman stood frozen to the spot. Kember glanced at him with a puzzled expression. ‘I thought you said you didn’t know Lang?’
‘I don’t.’
‘Then why is he staring at you?’
‘Maybe he thinks he’s seen me somewhere before,’ Bowman answered quickly. ‘That fucker never forgets a face.’
Groups of royal officials paced the transepts, gently steering the guests back to their seats. In his earpiece, Bowman heard Studley reporting that the groom’s party had just left their hotel. Lang slapped Seguma heartily on the back and then strutted back to his seat, his arms swinging at his sides like a couple of punchbags.
Up in the gallery, Kember and Bowman took their seats.
‘Do you think Studley was right?’ Kember asked in a low voice. ‘About the president’s enemies trying to have another crack at him today?’
Bowman sucked in air through his teeth. ‘After what just happened, we can’t rule anything out.’
But even as he sat down he heard the voice at the back of his head again. Telling him that he had nearly messed up. If he had been suffering with the cravings, Bowman knew, there was no way that he would have spotted the assassin. A fraction of a second later, and the president might have been killed.
The next time, I might not be so lucky.
*
The ceremony started at exactly twelve o’clock. The groom arrived first, a City poser with fashionably mussed hair, a swaggering gait and the kind of impermeable confidence you can only acquire after you’ve made your hundredth million. The organ music built to a booming crescendo, the guests hushed and then the bride appeared. Princess Amelia, sixth in line to the throne, plain and gangly, stuffed into a dress as white as uncut cocaine.
The service proceeded in a rigid, orderly fashion. Later, Bowman would remember it as a blur of Bible readings and hymns and vows. He wasn’t really paying attention. He was too busy thinking about his next pill and watching the guests below. At exactly one o’clock the newlyweds glided back down the red carpet, into a great wall of noise from the spectators. They rode off in their landau, and then the VIPs rose to depart.
As soon as the first guests got to their feet, Lomas and Studley hurried out of the Abbey to retrieve their wagon from the parking area. Kember left to fetch the other Discovery, while Bowman slipped out of the muniment room and jogged down to the ground floor. He moved alongside Seguma and Lungu, then they joined the bottleneck forming at the nave. There was a delay as the guests at the front waited for their coaches and private cars to collect them. Then the bottleneck cleared, and Bowman spoke into his mic, notifying the other guys that the principal was on the move. Thirty seconds later, they walked out of the Abbey into the
