‘No, Jack. He made another mistake. Yet another mistake. And that’s gonna have to be dealt with when this is all done, you understand that?’

Cunningham heard no reply. Just the sound of Meyer breathing. His point had been made.

‘OK. The baggage handler. What has he said exactly?’

‘He just confessed to placing the bag on the plane.’

‘Nothing else?’

‘Nothing.’

Cunningham paused for a few seconds to consider the information.

‘OK, this could be good for us. Very good. But things have to move fast.’

‘Agreed, sir.’

‘I want eyes on literally anyone who has contact with Mansour from this point onwards,’ he said. ‘We need to restrict any opportunity he has to retract his confession, or to go into greater detail. I want a net on that, understood?’

‘Sir.’

‘And I want Mansour dead tomorrow. Today, in fact, if we use British time.’

‘Sir, he’s confessed to the single biggest terrorist attack in British history. He’ll be held in a maximum security prison. The chances that one of my guys can get to him there at that sort of notice . . .’

‘It won’t be one of your guys,’ Cunningham interrupted. ‘We have other friends who can help with that.’

‘Sir.’

A single word, but it was enough to tell Cunningham that Meyer had now followed his meaning. The assistant director would make the necessary arrangements.

‘This could turn out perfectly,’ Cunningham said, almost thinking aloud. ‘We have a Muslim refugee confessing to the bomb. Provided he stays silent until he dies, it could be the end of this.’

‘Understood, sir.’

‘Provided what, Jack?’ Cunningham needed to be sure. ‘Provided what?’

‘Provided he stays silent until he dies, sir.’

‘Exactly. Make sure that’s what happens.’

Cunningham disconnected the line. As he did so, his eyes flitted to a second, thick-looking handset on the table. He almost reached out for it. Then he stopped himself.

No. The boss doesn’t need to know. Not yet. Not until this is done.

He walked away.

NINETEEN

Sarah Truman stared at her reflection in her illuminated bathroom mirror. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves. Readying herself to find out if her suspicions were correct.

She moved away from the mirror and towards the bath. Or, more accurately, towards the narrow, white and blue plastic stick sitting on the bath’s edge.

She stared at the small digital screen that occupied the centre of the device.

Two blue lines.

Pregnant.

The next few minutes were a blur of a hundred jumbled thoughts. But one overrode all the others.

How do I tell Michael?

They had spoken about this. Of course they had. They were an adult couple, engaged and living together. It was something they wanted, but not quite yet. Sarah was younger than Michael by a decade, and she had wanted to concentrate on her career. To push the incredible strides she had made in the last few years for just a little longer.

Michael had respected that. And for his part he had always wanted them to be married before starting a family. A throwback to his Irish Catholic upbringing. Sarah’s outlook was less traditional, but she understood his feelings.