He walked up to the rocky outcrop where he’d sheltered against the helicopter’s blade-wash and picked up a small piece of soft stone, using it to scratch a small square mark onto the side of the rock to give himself a rudimentary aiming point. He then turned and paced back fifty metres. He extended the telescopic stock of the MP7, took up a kneeling firing position and activated the scope, noting that it was set on day-mode as he adjusted it to two-times magnification. He squinted through the reticule at the rock; aiming at the scratched square and selecting single-shot on the weapon, he squeezed the trigger. The report from the MP7 was eerily quiet: no tell-tale crack as would have been given off by the standard high-velocity weapon, more of a metallic ‘Thunk’ as the working parts recoiled and another round was fed into the chamber.

He squeezed the trigger three more times in quick succession. Through the scope he could see that the standard zero on the sights was not too bad for his eyesight. The four rounds had struck slightly high and left of his aiming points. He made minor adjustments on the sights to correct the inaccuracy.

Pulling the MP7 back into the aim, he squeezed off a further three rounds at the makeshift target. Checking his grouping through the scope, he noted that the new marks were central on the rock: as good as could be expected for that type of weapon.

He stood and engaged the safety catch and let the weapon drop on its harness before squatting to locate the seven spent shellcases, which he pocketed. He had no intention of leaving any evidence of his presence.

He walked back down to the bothy for his final preparations before the trip to Cregganmore Farm Cottage.

Once back in, he slid the kettle back onto the stove. While he waited for the water to boil, he took out the communications device, switching it on and turning it over in his hands. It was grey in colour, the same size and weight as an average smartphone, but with no screen and only an on/off button and volume switch. He located the small earpiece, which was similar to ones he’d used in the past, and slotted it in his ear.

He heard a light hiss and then a tinny voice sparked up.

‘You took your time, Detective,’ said Pet.

Tom picked out the wireless pressel switch, depressed it and said, ‘Sorry, Pet. Been busy.’

‘No problem. You have some unpleasant weather coming in. Heavy rain and a forty-mile-per-hour easterly wind.’

‘Perfect. I like bad weather.’

‘Mad Englishman.’

‘I’m not English.’