It took twenty minutes for the Communist Party and military delegates to lay their wreaths and bow three times in front of the coffin. The first of the foreign delegates were the Albanians, whose anti-revisionist creed had been allied to Mao's; they were followed by the North Koreans, Vietnamese and Cambodians, with the Japanese next in line.

The crying of the women was beginning to depress me; I hoped someone would be there in London, to cry for Sinclair.

Pigeons flew from the parapets along the facade of the Museum, their wings black against the sun's glare until they wheeled and caught the light; along the rooftops the flags were at half-mast, some of them catching the breeze; down here the air was still and stifling as the American Vice-President moved forward and laid a wreath of white tiger-lilies against the catafalque, leading the rest of the delegates past at a steady pace.

The British contingent followed, and as Detective-Inspector Stansfield moved to the edge of the dais I went with him and was close enough to read the name on the wreath of white roses as Bygreave took it from an attendant — Elizabeth R.

The delegates formed a short line along the side of the catafalque, watching as their leader placed the wreath carefully against it; then suddenly the sky was filled with flowers and the bloodied body of the Secretary of State was hurled against me by the blast as the coffin exploded.

4: Assassination