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Secretary.’
    Gorman found herself warming to this young man. He seemed sincere. A safe pair of hands.
    ‘The PM feels that the public no longer have the stomach for more terrorists abusing the legal process. We’re a laughing stock as it is. The Hammerstone team gave the PM a second option . . .’
    ‘The pre-emptive option, Home Secretary?’
    ‘Call it what you will. Obviously there is no way he can officially condone such action, and we don’t need to know the identity of the individuals involved. But I’m here to tell you that if the pre-emptive option were taken, Her Majesty’s Government would not investigate the matter too closely. Do I make myself clear?’
    ‘Perfectly clear,’ said Buckingham. ‘I shall inform my three Hammerstone colleagues of the gist of this conversation immediately.’
    ‘Obviously . . .’ Gorman started to say.
    ‘. . . this conversation never happened.’
    The politician and the spook locked gazes. A silent acknowledgement passed between them. Tessa Gorman stood up and outstretched her hand. Buckingham did the same.
    ‘Family crisis, you say?’ The Home Secretary was unimpressed.
    ‘So I understand. Something to do with . . . chickenpox?’
    ‘Hard to do this job well if you’re running off to mop little Johnny’s fevered brow every five minutes, I’d have thought.’
    ‘Not for me to comment, Home Secretary.’
    The door suddenly opened. Gorman and Buckingham looked across the office to see a short, slightly plump woman bustle in. She wore a flowery blouse and sensible trousers that didn’t flatter her figure. Her mousy hair was wet and bedraggled. She carried a sopping raincoat over the crook of her arm. Her cheeks were red and she was out of breath.
    ‘Sorry . . . late . . .’ she gasped, then tapped her chest several times in quick suggestion. ‘Something going on in Lewisham . . . police everywhere . . .’ She blinked at the other two. ‘Have you started?’
    ‘Actually, Victoria,’ said the Home Secretary, ‘we’ve just finished. I’m sure Mr Buckingham will fill you in. ’
    Victoria flushed, and she drew herself up to her full height, which wasn’t very high at all. ‘He certainly will fill me in,’ she said, her voice suddenly more prickly and authoritative. ‘My son . . .’
    ‘Plenty of brownie points,’ Gorman interrupted her, ‘if you bring this business to a successful conclusion.’ She directed her words towards Buckingham rather than Victoria. ‘I can promise you that. Plenty of brownie points.’ She scraped back her chair and walked towards the door. Then she stopped and looked back at Buckingham. ‘I’m obliged to leave the details up to you,’ she said. ‘I trust you have somebody in mind capable of carrying out an operation like this?’
    ‘Yes,’ Buckingham replied coolly. ‘As a matter of fact, a couple of names do spring to mind. If Victoria approves, of course.’
    ‘Hereford Regiment?’
    ‘Yes, Home Secretary. Hereford Regiment. But as you say, probably best to leave the details down to us.’
     
    00.02hrs
    There was flashing blue neon at either end of the street. Two members of the police armed response unit had arrived to get Barker on his feet and away to the nearest hospital. He hadn’t let them help him, and insisted on walking unaided to the unmarked squad car parked just outside the lock-up. The five guys in the tech unit were a gibbering mess after their ordeal in the Bedford van, but they were alive and unharmed.
    Danny’s earpiece was a torrent of voices. The Met’s command room had been patched in, and so had Hereford. The instructions were clear. The Regiment boys were to make themselves scarce. SCO19 would mop all this up, and no doubt claim the credit for seven dead dealers, a sizeable seizure of cocaine, and none of their guys down. And that was fine by Danny and the boys. For them, anonymity was the name of the game.
    They stood together by the cab at the south end of the