Manhunter by Chris Ryan (the false prince series .TXT) 📗

bleeding mugs. You should have taken a leaf out of your brother-in-law’s book and worked for me.’

Bowman didn’t reply. He stole another glance past Lang’s enormous shoulder. If I’m spotted with Lang, it’ll kill my career.

‘Don’t say much, do you, Bowman?’

‘Sorry, Mr Lang,’ Bowman said. He shifted on his feet. ‘I can’t really talk. I’m working tonight.’

‘So I heard.’ Lang’s eyes narrowed to slits. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I can’t discuss it.’

‘Top secret, is it?’

‘I really can’t say, Mr Lang,’ Bowman replied firmly.

Lang grinned. ‘I guess you know all about secrets, don’t you?’

Bowman stood still but said nothing. Lang stepped into his face.

‘You’ve been a naughty boy, Bowman. Very naughty. You’ve got a bit of a habit, so I’ve heard.’

He tapped a finger against his nose conspiratorially. Bowman felt a cold shiver run down his spine.

‘You’ve been using your brother-in-law to score pills,’ Lang said. ‘Carter is a good boy, he’d always help out his family. But I was surprised when I found out he was selling stuff to you. I didn’t know they allowed junkies in the army.’

Bowman didn’t reply. Lang took a step towards him and lowered his voice.

‘Some free advice, son. In business, it always pays to understand your enemies. Know their weak points. Now I know yours, don’t I?’

He patted Bowman on the shoulder with a grizzled paw. A hand that had crushed windpipes and beaten faces to a bloody pulp.

‘It’s a good job Carter works for me,’ he went on. ‘Otherwise, who knows what I might do with that information? An ex-copper snorting opioids?’ He smiled cruelly. ‘You could end up in trouble.’

Just then Bowman spied two guys lingering close to the ballroom door. They were dressed in plain dark suits and rigged up with covert earpieces. Bodyguards, perhaps. The shorter guy was medium height and build, with the kind of clean-shaven corporate face you forgot ten seconds after seeing it. The second man was a few inches taller than his partner and maybe fifty pounds heavier. His head was shaped like a bucket with a pair of holes drilled into the side. Both men glanced up and down the corridor, as if waiting for someone.

Lang glared and poked a finger at his chest. ‘I want to know what’s going on here, Bowman. What are you and your mates up to?’

Bowman sighed. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t talk. I need to get back to work.’

Lang stared at him with dark slitted eyes. Then his face relaxed into a crafty smile.

‘You secret squirrels.’ He formed his right paw into an imaginary pistol and pretended to shoot Bowman in the head. Then he winked and said, ‘See you around, son.’

He turned and headed into the bathroom. Bowman watched him leave, Lang’s threat replaying in his head.

Most guys in the Regiment knew about his background, growing up in an area infested with gangsters. How he’d escaped a life of crime and violence to join the police, and later on the army. But if Kember or anyone else discovered the true nature of his relationship with Lang – his reliance on his brother-in-law’s contacts to supply him with powerful opioids – then his career was over.

He started back down the corridor, towards the ballroom.

The two men in suits were moving briskly towards him. The bland-faced man and the guy with the bucket for a head. They swept past Bowman, glancing at him before they continued down the corridor. As Bowman passed them he noticed a grey-blue strap dangling from Bucket Head’s pocket. The guy had something bulky hidden under his jacket, Bowman realised. Not a gun. Something bigger.

He carried on towards the ballroom and spoke into his integrated mic.

‘Two guys in suits,’ Bowman said. ‘Jacked up with comms. Just spotted them. From one of the other BG teams, I think. Something’s wrong with them.’

Studley said, ‘Can you be more specific?’

‘I don’t remember seeing them around any of the VIPs. They weren’t at the Abbey, either. They just don’t look right.’

He gave a brief description.

‘Any idea who they’re working for?’ Bowman asked.

‘We’ll check. Leave it with us.’

The party was in full swing as Bowman made his way back to the table. Kember glared at him. ‘You were gone ages. What took you so bloody long?’

‘Sorry, Geordie,’ Bowman said.

‘Fuck it. Wait here.’ Kember scraped back his chair, stood up. ‘Going for a piss myself.’

He stormed off towards the washrooms. Bowman signalled to one of the waiters to fetch him a Diet Coke. He took a long sip, keeping one eye on the president while he scanned the room for any sign of the guys he’d passed in the corridor. But they were nowhere to be seen.

He got back on the radio. ‘Any word on those two BGs, Bill?’

Studley’s voice hissed in his earpiece. ‘They check out. Both of them. There’s no threat to the principal. Repeat, no threat.’

Bowman said: ‘Are you sure? Could they have been looking at the wrong blokes?’

‘There’s no mistake. Everyone in that room has been cleared. Ignore them. That’s an order.’

Studley clicked off. Bowman sat at the table, listening to the music, eyes locked on the principal. Kember returned to the ballroom four minutes later, wearing a look that could gut a rat.

‘Bloody useless,’ he growled. ‘Toilets are out of order. Had to go all the way over to the other side of the hotel.’

‘That’s strange. They were fine a few minutes ago,’ Bowman said.

‘Someone must have had an accident,’ Kember said, his features stitched with anger. ‘Can’t say I’m surprised. Considering all the shite this mob are stuffing up their noses.’

Bowman stayed quiet, drinking his Coke while he watched the guests. Twenty metres away, to the left of the dance floor, Seguma roared with laughter at something one of the guests said. He sank another slug of whisky, liquid splashing down his front. To the north, Princess Amelia sat at the head table with the older members of the royal family. Her new husband stood to the right of the dance floor, boozing with his City