Read our unmissable exclusive extract of author Peter James’s new novel The Hawk is Dead: A Killer In The Palace, featuring trysts inside Buckingham Palace and royal aides dispatched in creative ways…

It is November 2023 and the Royal Train has derailed in a tunnel on its way to an engagement in Brighton. Alongside Private Secretary Sir Peregrine Greaves and Jon Gilhall, bodyguard Queen Camilla and the rest of her entourage are escorted to safety by train driver Stanley Briggs.

But as you discover in this exclusive excerpt from Peter James’ new book The Hawk is Dead, more danger awaits when the Royal party comes to light…

‘He looked over his shoulder and saw the Queen stepping a few feet behind him, a trail of stumbling, shadowy figures behind him.

Queen. It was the Queen. He couldn’t get his head together. The Queen stumbles through the tunnel behind him. The Queen, who was due to be proudly delivered to the platform at Brighton Station at 10.45am.

Now he was trying to get her to safety as fast as he could, unsure if the northbound express had been stopped or would appear and pass them by at any moment.

Hop aboard the carriages of the Royal Train, some of which now straddle the northbound line.

Please don’t let this happen. At least they were now well away from the Royal Train. And we’re almost out of the tunnel.

Please God. As he continued walking, his mind was a whirlwind of thoughts that went over and over again the moments after he saw the obstacle across the tracks, whatever it was. He was trying to think of what he could have done differently.

Was there anything?

He picked up his phone again. And this time he saw a single stick emerge. Finally! Thank God, thank God! Still walking quickly, he pressed the button to summon the signalman at Three Bridges. Nothing happened.

Come on, come on, come on! Then suddenly he heard a sound that brought him joy and relief. ‘Three Bridges Signaling Center.’

“This is an emergency call from the driver of the Royal Train,” he blurted out. ‘Your team called me earlier. We derailed in the Clayton Tunnel and the train is straddling the north line.

‘You need to stop all trains in both directions and cut off the power. ‘Can you hear me?’

‘Copy, driver. We had already been warned. Power was cut and all north and southbound train traffic was stopped. Are there any losses?’

‘No, no, I don’t think so. ‘There are some minor injuries, no-one seriously injured.’

He felt so relieved that he barely noticed that two minutes later he had stepped out of the tunnel into bright sunlight and the smell of grass and tumbleweed. He closed his eyes and prayed silently.

Chapter 13

Monday 20 November 2023

Jon Gilhall was at the Queen’s side as they emerged from the tunnel into a deep chasm and a distant cacophony of sirens.

The ashen-looking train driver was waiting for them. ‘Your Majesty, I – what – I don’t know what to say. There was something on the rail…’

He smiled at her. ‘Thanks for showing us the way, Stanley. ‘It’s such a relief to be back in the fresh air.’ When Ser Peregrine turned to check on Greaves, he saw the rest of his party lagging behind the tunnel. Then he called out to Gilhall.

‘I feel like I’m coming out of a bad sewer. It’s a stagnant pond and smells like soot, but it couldn’t have been steam trains for decades.’

“I agree with you, Ma’am,” he said, his eyes looking everywhere, towards both sides of the plateau and the grassy banks on either side for any sign of amiss, then back to the tunnel entrance, around the old brick enclosure and into the darkness beyond, where more and more travelers appeared, then stopped and stood, looking grateful for a breath of fresh air. Some are clearly shaken, some are in good shape.

Jon Gilhall radioed his colleagues; PC Julian Dambe quickly updated him. He confirmed that all trains were stopped and power was cut.

A police helicopter will be overhead in about five minutes. The vehicles carrying the royal group will arrive at the scene in a short time.

‘Can you see the service elevator, Jon?’ Dambe asked.

‘I’m looking at him.’

‘There are two BTPs’ [British Transport Police] For those unable to climb the stairs, officers were given a key to operate on the road. ‘Can you see the steps?’

He looked up the steep concrete stairs. ‘Understood. ‘I can see the steps, yes, yes.’

‘They are heading to a farm road where vehicles will arrive. I was also informed that there was enough space for a helicopter to land and that a royal helicopter had taken off; ‘He’ll be here in twenty minutes.’

“Copy this,” Gilhall said.

He ended the call and turned to the Queen. He was worried that they would all be defenseless at the tunnel entrance.

Any potential attacker was too tall. He weighed his options. He could take his boss back to the relative safety of the tunnel or up the stairs until the entire area was safe. Going back to the tunnel was a logical option. He explained this to her.

The Queen looked at him for a moment as if he were crazy. I’m not going back into that stinking tunnel, Jon.

‘If you’re worried that I won’t be able to climb those steps at my age, think again!’ He turned to Greaves.

“Are you ready to climb them, Perry?”

He nodded decisively.

He turned to check on the rest of his group again. They were a little behind them, moving slowly but steadily along the difficult walking path.

“You go ahead, Your Majesty, I’ll bring up everyone else,” Briggs said.

He signaled to the Protection Officer. ‘Let’s go.’

Gilhall suppressed a smile. Despite the difficulties he had been through, his torn clothes and disheveled hair, he admired his balance while climbing the big, steep steps with confident steps.

The man climbed up next to them, scanning everywhere with his eyes; Peregrine Greaves was struggling behind them to catch up.

After a few minutes of hard climbing, Gilhall and The Queen emerged onto a grassy knoll and a nice stiff breeze.

He led her away from the stairs, looking around carefully. A few concrete blocks were scattered about, as if they would once have formed part of these steps, but were no longer needed.

Fifty yards or so away there was a winding road, a wide expanse of farmland on all sides, and in the near distance the gentle woodland and scrubby slope of the South Downs.

The hillside was where he focused his attention; He felt a deep sense of uneasiness as he scanned the place, then took a 360-degree walk around them, his hand inside his jacket, near his Glock.

He was looking for any movement, any glint of reflected light. And I was hoping that support would come at any moment. He knew his colleagues wouldn’t be far behind. Then he heard the voice of Sir Peregrine Greaves and turned.

‘I’m so inappropriate!’ said the Private Secretary, out of breath from the effort.

Gilhall thought he looked all set. It was as if the climb had taken everything away from him.

The Queen turned to Camilla Greaves. ‘Let’s sit for a minute, Peregrine, and get our breath back.’ He pointed to one of the concrete blocks.

Peter James’ latest thriller The Hawk Is Dead is set inside Buckingham Palace and is said to be partly inspired by the Queen.

Just then there was a faint, distant sound, like the crack of a whip, and at the same moment Greaves’s hair appeared to rise from his head.

For a moment. For a moment Gilhall thought the wind had knocked Greaves’s wig off.

Then, less than a second later, Greaves’ head exploded, sending blood, bone and brains splattering in every direction.

Excerpted from Peter James’s The Hawk Is Dead (Macmillan, £22), to be published on 21 October. © Peter James 2025. To order a copy for £19.80 (offer valid until 25/10/2015; UK P&P free on orders over £25) go to www.mailshop.co.uk/books or call 020 3176 2937.