Kember pulled up directly behind Okello’s S-Class, with the presidential limo ahead. A few moments later, Jallow and Deka strolled out of the lobby. Jallow shoved aside a businessman blocking the entrance, needlessly drawing attention to the team. An amateur move. Seguma walked a few steps behind his bodyguards, swinging his gold-crowned cane. Jallow yanked open the rear passenger door and said something to the president. Bowman didn’t catch the words. But the tone wasn’t friendly. Not a polite request. More like an order. Hurry up.
Seguma and Lungu ducked into the rear of the stretch limo. Jallow slammed the door shut, then swung round to the S-Class sedan parked to the rear. Jallow crammed his enormous frame into the back seat while Deka took the front passenger seat.
Then the convoy set off. The limo departed first, steering into the mid-morning traffic. Then the bodyguards in the sedan, followed by the SAS men in the Discovery. Thirty seconds later, they were motoring south on Park Lane, leaving the hotel in the rear-view.
Heading for Westminster Abbey.
Three
The column tooled south for half a mile, dominating the road in a loose line formation. The stretch limo in the lead scout position, the three bodyguards in the sedan four metres behind, Bowman and Kember bringing up the rear in their Discovery. Riding almost bumper to bumper with the S-Class in front. The roads around Buckingham Palace, Pall Mall and Victoria Street had been closed off to traffic, but the police had been notified of the alternative route being taken by President Seguma and the small convoy was swiftly waved through.
As they carried on, Bowman felt a vague anxiety creeping through his bones. He wondered when he’d be able to take his next pill, how long he’d have to wait. The anxiety gnawed at him as they motored south-east on Vauxhall Bridge Road. Kember was driving on the right side of the road, ready to overtake the two vehicles in front in case of an immediate threat to the president. Making sure they owned the road. Like a fat guy in the street, dominating the pavement, not allowing anyone to get past on either side.
‘Look at that shit,’ Kember said, pointing with his eyes at the sedan. ‘Those tossers are too far back from the principal.’
Up ahead, the limo eased to a halt at a set of traffic lights. The sedan carrying the bodyguards stopped two whole car lengths from the lead vehicle.
‘Bloody amateurs,’ Kember said as he stopped behind the sedan. ‘They should be riding bumper to bumper with the principal. If it kicks off, they’ll be too far away to do anything.’
Both soldiers automatically lowered their hands to the chrome door handles. Standard operating procedure when the target went static. If the principal came under attack, you could spring the handle and instantly debus from the wagon, rather than having to fumble with the lock. A tiny detail but in the heat of an ambush it could save a second or two. The difference between saving the principal’s life or failing to stop an assassin.
The lights stayed red. Bowman checked the side mirror, the pavement. He was looking for anyone approaching the limo, on foot or from another vehicle. He figured the most likely method of attack would be a gunman riding pillion on a motorbike. Easy enough to execute. Pull up alongside the limo while it was static. Empty a clip through the window, speed off again. By the time either bodyguard team had debussed, the killers would be long gone.
The lights changed.
Six metres ahead of the Discovery, the stretch limo set off again. Four metres further back, the sedan was slower off the mark. The limo started pulling ahead, increasing the distance between the principal and the three bodyguards in the second vehicle. Six metres, then eight. Then the sedan set off, moving slowly past the lights as it made no attempt to catch up with the limo.
‘Fuck this,’ Kember said.
He stamped his foot to the floor, mashing the accelerator. The engine roared as the Discovery surged forward, racing ahead of the sedan. As soon as they had overtaken it, Kember wrenched the wheel hard to the left, nudging the Discovery into the limo’s slipstream. Taking up the position in the middle of the column. They were directly behind President Seguma in the lead vehicle now, the rear of the limo no more than a bumper’s width ahead of them, with the bodyguards in the sedan trailing six or seven metres behind the Discovery.
Kember eased off the pedal, dropping the speed to twenty miles per hour, sticking close to the limo as they continued south on the near-empty road.
‘The BGs won’t appreciate that, Geordie,’ Bowman said.
‘I don’t give a crap. They’re pissing me off with their schoolboy tactics.’
‘Thought you said the threat to the president ain’t real.’
‘It isn’t,’ Kember said. ‘But I’m not having these twats make us look useless.’
The puzzling thought nicked at the base of Bowman’s skull again. ‘I don’t get it,’ he said.
‘What’s that?’ said Kember.
‘These guys are supposed to be the president’s top bodyguards. But they don’t seem bothered about keeping him safe.’
‘Hardly surprising, is it? They’re poor quality.’
‘It’s not just their training, mate.’
‘What is it, then?’
‘It’s their behaviour. The way they act around Seguma. They’re not timid. It’s almost as if they don’t respect him.’
‘Maybe they’ve got some leverage over him. They might know about the skeletons in his cupboard. Or maybe they just hate working for the prick.’
‘They’re working for a violent dictator, mate. You’d think they’d be treading on eggshells around him all the time.’
‘What else could it be?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Bowman. ‘But there’s something off about him. He seems small.’
‘He’s hardly gonna be a bloody giant, is he?’
‘I mean, he looks ordinary. I can’t see anyone being afraid of this guy.’
Up ahead, the limo turned off to the
