The lorry had been empty, presumably on its way back to base from making a drop-off. The hostage, now bound and gagged and too petrified to even try to resist, was bundled into the trailer where twelve armed terrorists drooled over her with hungry eyes and strict orders from Nazim not to rape her. It would not be appropriate to enter Paradise sullied by contact with a Western kafir whore; she could be useful to them in other ways.

Then Nazim, Abbud and Zahran clambered up into the tall cab and rumbled away on the final leg of their journey, leaving the abandoned pickup trucks in the layby. After getting off to a shaky start the operation was now back in full swing. They skirted the edge of Alençon and headed west into the pleasant green Alpine countryside with the blue sky above them and their hearts full of blissful thoughts of hatred and destruction. Some time afterwards, they reached their final objective.

A smooth private road wound its way into the scenic river valley to the water treatment plant. The terrorists halted the lorry a hundred metres from the gated entrance, sat in silence and observed. Beyond the gates the main office building looked like a slick modern airport terminal in miniature, with signs for reception and staff and visitor car parks. A small fleet of industrial utility vehicles, modified golf carts with load beds attached, stood parked outside. Visible in the background were the Olympic-pool-sized circular reservoirs and elevated bridges and gantries, giant ducts and pipes and pumps and all kinds of other installations and equipment whose purpose even Abbud, the engineer, could only guess at. Everything was sparkling clean and state-of-the-art. Somewhere among all that high-technology layout, they supposed, was the crucial spot in which they needed to dump their toxic cargo in order to inflict maximum damage on the population.

But they had to get there first. Blocking their way was more mesh fencing than in a medium-security prison. The perimeter stretched for ever and stood twelve feet high, topped with coiled razor wire. A glossy billboard reading K. H. I. ENVIRONMENTAL gleamed in the sunshine, and below it the wire was festooned with PROPRIÉTÉ PRIVÉE and ACCÈS INTERDIT AU PUBLIC warning signs. Despite the obviously high security concerns, the only guard they could see for the moment was a solitary uniformed attendant working the barrier from his hut at the main gate. As they watched, a car approached the barrier, its occupant flashed an ID pass and the barrier glided open and shut to let it through.

‘Looks like you need authorisation to get inside,’ Abbud said.

‘Our authorisation comes from God,’ Nazim replied. ‘Let us prepare.’