Bowman typed out a short text message to Loader. He popped his head through the door to the staff quarters to check on Roidhead, then returned to the living room. They passed the minutes watching Sky News. The attack at the wedding was still the main story. The rest of the news barely warranted a look-in. There was a brief report on the trade war between the US and China. A thirty-second segment on the elections in Australia. An earthquake had struck in Italy. Another high-street fashion chain had gone into administration.
The fifth item focused on the growing unrest in Karatandu. The situation had deteriorated badly in the past twenty-four hours. The expected government crackdown had backfired. There was fighting in the streets. Protestors against the security forces. Molotov cocktails, bricks and clubs versus the AK-47. Some of the wealthier citizens were fleeing the capital, the reporter claimed. The US State Department had announced it was pulling its diplomatic staff from the country with immediate effect. General Kakuba gave another interview from his mountain hideout. The gold-toothed leader of the KUF angrily denounced Seguma’s regime and called on his followers to take to the streets.
Bowman said, ‘If they keep this up, the rebels won’t need the Russians. They’ll run Seguma out of town themselves.’
‘Not likely,’ Lang said. ‘They don’t have the resources to defeat the government. They’ll loot some shops, burn a few buildings to the ground, maybe even kill some soldiers, but in the end, they’ll lose.’
‘Unless your Kremlin mates help them out,’ Mallet quipped.
‘Still won’t be easy. Seguma’s loyal supporters won’t surrender, not without a fight. It would have been better if Ken had stepped aside gracefully. We could have spared the country a lot of grief.’
Mallet chuckled meanly. ‘You don’t give a crap about these people. The only thing you care about is your bank balance.’
‘That’s not fair. I’ve invested heavily in Karatandu over the years. I’ve poured money into hospitals, orphanages, roads. All sorts.’
‘You must like the place.’
‘Yeah,’ Lang said, ‘I do. The country gets a bad rap in the Western media, but it’s a beautiful place. Once you get out of the cities, the landscape is like an English forest.’
‘Pity.’
‘What’s that?’
‘You won’t ever see it again,’ Mallet said. ‘Not after today.’
Thirty-eight minutes passed. Mallet stepped out onto the balcony to take a call. Bowman snuck out to the kitchen, locked himself in the utility room and snorted up another one of Lang’s pills. When he headed back into the living room, he noticed Lang giving him a funny look. Mallet was still out on the balcony, talking in a low voice on his phone.
Lang parted his lips into a sinister grin. ‘How’s that cold?’
‘Fine,’ Bowman muttered.
‘I’ve seen that look before, you know. In your eyes.’
Bowman steered his gaze away from Lang. He felt a cold tingling on the nape of his neck.
‘You must be in a lot of pain,’ the mobster went on. ‘People who have that look, they’re usually trying to numb something horrible. Some shit they can’t deal with in their lives. Know what I mean?’
‘No,’ Bowman said.
‘Yeah, you do.’
He said nothing more. Another four minutes passed, and then the balcony doors swished open. Mallet stepped back inside, tucked his phone away. He nodded at Bowman.
‘Six have liaised with their mates in the Foreign Office. They’ve reached a decision.’
‘And?’
‘We need to have a chat with Seguma. Bring him in. Patrick and Alex can sit in on this, too.’ Mallet’s eyes rested on Lang. ‘You. Fuck-face. Wait on the balcony.’
‘That’s not very friendly, son.’
‘We’re from the Cell. We’re not in the business of being nice.’
‘What about my deal?’
‘They’re processing the paperwork now. Shouldn’t take much longer.’
‘Yeah, well, speed it up. I’m bored shitless sitting here with you mugs.’
Bowman left the room and hurried down the hallway. He levered open the study door, motioned for the others to follow him. Seguma glanced up at him, his face stricken with anxiety and fear. Webb and Casey pulled him up from the leather armchair and ushered him back down the hallway into the living room. He entered the living room behind Bowman and abruptly stopped as he caught sight of Lang. The latter was sitting on a chair on the balcony outside, looking miserable. The door had been locked, trapping him on the terrace. There was no other way off, other than the sheer drop to the streets below.
‘Take a seat, sir,’ Mallet said, stiffly.
His tone was friendly enough, but the look in his eyes carried a threat of violence.
Seguma dropped into the same chair Lang had occupied, took off his trilby hat, placed it on his lap. He watched the others in silence as they sat round the table.
‘It’s over,’ Mallet said. ‘Lang told us everything.’
Seguma glanced outside at Lang. ‘David talked?’
‘He spilled his guts. Gave us chapter and verse on your deal with the Russians.’
Mallet briefly explained the situation to Webb and Casey. The Russian conspiracy to force Seguma from power and put their own guy in office. The threat to violently overthrow Seguma’s regime if he refused to agree to the terms on offer. Lang’s role as an intermediary, taking a percentage from both sides. The cobalt rush.
Casey said, ‘I’m surprised.’
Mallet said, ‘About what?’
‘How did Lang manage to keep this whole thing secret for so long? We’ve been watching him for months. Surely someone must have picked up on it at Vauxhall.’
‘Not necessarily. A deal this big, Lang will have been cautious. More than usual.’
‘But he must have left a trail. Electronic comms, messages.’
‘The Russians could have advised him on all of that,’ Mallet said. ‘They’d have a system in place.’
‘Lang meets with a lot of Russians in his business dealings,’ Bowman added. ‘He gets a lot of high-rollers at his casinos. It wouldn’t have been hard to arrange a few clandestine meetings.’
Mallet turned to the president.
‘You’ve been hoodwinked, sir. The Russians promised you a cosy retirement, but they’re lying through their back teeth. They’ve
