‘Those extra bodies from the Presidential Guard will even things up a bit,’ Mallet said.
‘Agreed,’ said the Voice. ‘Between yourselves, Mike Gregory and the Presidential Guard, you should have enough firepower to defend against anyone who might take a pop at you. More than enough.’
‘We’re going in half-cocked,’ Bowman said. ‘That’s never a good idea.’
The Voice said, ‘We’re not asking you to go in and save the country. All you’ve got to do is secure the family and wait for the strike force to arrive. How hard can it be?’
Bowman clenched his jaws but said nothing.
‘Someone should reach out to Gregory,’ Casey said. ‘Find out what’s going on at the palace, how secure it is, how many men are there.’
Mallet nodded. ‘First rule of reconnaissance. Get a report from the man on the ground.’
‘Or a woman. We’re not living in the eighteenth century anymore, John. In case you hadn’t noticed.’
The Scot smiled condescendingly. ‘Is that what passes for a sense of humour in Surrey these days?’
‘Our team will contact Mike,’ the Voice said in its artificial automated tone. ‘Leave it with us.’
Bowman said, ‘We’ll need hardware as well. Longs, pistols, grenades, plate armour. The full package. If you want us to hold the palace, we’re gonna need to be tooled up to the eyeballs.’
‘Consider it done.’
‘What are we going to do with Lang?’ Webb said, glancing from the laptop to the balcony. ‘You can’t expect us to bring him with us to Karatandu.’
‘Our team will make alternative arrangements for his return to London. I’ll discuss that with John after this call. Then you need to get moving. Make your way across the border and head for the private terminal at Nice. We’ll send you an update as soon as the diplomatic jet is on its way.’
‘Any questions, guys?’ asked Mallet.
No one spoke.
‘As of this minute, rescuing Mr Seguma’s family is our top priority,’ the Voice said. ‘I cannot stress that enough. If we lose the family, we lose the country. Do not fail.’
The line dropped. Bowman listened to dead air for a few moments. Then Mallet slid the laptop back into the sleeve, dug out his phone and pushed up from his chair.
‘Wait here,’ he said. ‘I’ll get on the blower with Six. Discuss Davey Boy’s deal.’
‘This isn’t right,’ Bowman said. ‘We shouldn’t be letting Lang off the hook. He’s a traitor.’
Mallet shot him a savage glare. ‘If I want your opinion on how to handle the interrogation, I’ll let you know. Until then, keep your fucking thoughts to yourself. Got it?’
Bowman began to argue, then thought better of it. ‘Fine,’ he replied sourly.
‘Good,’ Mallet straightened. ‘Right, you lot. We’re on the road as soon as I get off the phone. You. Smart-arse. Send a message to Tiny,’ he ordered Casey. ‘Tell him to bring the car round and find somewhere to park near the entrance. We’ll be out in a few minutes.’
Webb said, ‘What about the heavy? We can’t leave him here.’
‘He’s coming with us,’ Mallet said. ‘We’ll deliver him to the UKN waiting for us en route to the airport.’
‘Why don’t we just clip the guy?’
‘Can’t. Five wants to question him in relation to several unsolved gangland murders.’ A thought occurred to him. ‘We’ll get rid of the hardware and the kit at the RV, too.’
‘It’ll be a tight squeeze. Seven of us in the wagon.’
‘The big bastard goes in the boot. No other way.’
Mallet stomped over to the balcony door and wrenched it open. Lang shot up from his chair. The faint drone of city noise drifted up from the streets far below.
‘Inside,’ Mallet ordered him.
Lang slid past him and stepped back into the living room. He glanced at Seguma, then slid his gaze across to Mallet. ‘What’s the news with my deal? It’s taking fucking ages.’
‘I’m discussing it with Six now. They’re about to sign off on it.’ He smiled thinly.
‘Then what?’
‘You’ll travel with the rest of us to the airport. Some other poor sod will escort you back to London. Now wait here like a good boy.’
Mallet looked over at Webb, his face scrunched in thought. ‘You’ll have to change out of those clothes. Grab some of Lang’s gear. Whatever you can find that broadly fits. Where’s your courier kit?’ he asked Bowman.
‘Lang’s closet.’
‘Grab it. The document wallet too. Make sure we leave nothing behind. Not a trace, do you hear? I want everything removed, right down to the last skin cell.’
‘Why? What’s the big deal?’
Mallet didn’t answer. His phone hummed. He stepped outside, pulled the balcony door shut and leaned against the railing as he took the call. Bowman and Webb left Casey on guard duty and darted out of the living room. They jogged over to the master bedroom, ducked into the walk-in closet. Webb changed out of his courier kit and threw on a striped shirt, cream jacket and a baseball cap with the crest of an East London football team on the front. Bowman stuffed their discarded gear into a Herschel holdall, trotted back down to the hall, snatched up the document wallet from the side table and shoved it into the same bag. He dumped the Herschel by the door. Rushed over to the staff quarters, dragged Roidhead to his feet. Hustled the guy into the living room.
Moments later, Mallet stepped back through the balcony door. Lang stood up, straight-backed, like a defendant at a murder trial, waiting for the judge’s verdict.
‘Good news,’ Mallet said. ‘Your worries are over, Davey. All is forgiven. The deal has just been signed off. You’re going into police protection.’
‘About time. Now how about getting rid of these cuffs? They’re killing me.’
Mallet nodded at Webb. ‘Do the honours, Patrick.’
Webb left the room. He came back a few moments later clutching a pair of scissors and cut through Lang’s cable ties. Lang rubbed his sore wrists and grinned at the soldier.
‘Cheers, son.’
Webb glared
