Just his imagination. What had begun as nothing more than a mild concern following the raid on the Terror Twelve had turned into paranoia. The text message he had received from the Serpent about the interloper was a problem that would have to be solved. And soon.

‘You there?’ the Mahdi asked. ‘Good. Now, do as I have instructed. Do everything else exactly as we have planned. Remember: you fall so He can rise. He will call you Shahid and reward you with paradise. Remember that He selected you for this mission. The most important mission. The final mission.’

The Mahdi ended the call and placed the phone in his pocket. He then reached into his drawer and pulled out a knife. The sharpened steel edge of the blade glistened silver as it caught the moonlight, but the Mahdi was seeing only red.

WALID turned off the phone and placed it in the bag with the bomb. He had practised destroying phones back on the farm in Australia, but the Mahdi had told him it wasn’t required for this mission. The final mission. That news had pleased him because he had not been looking forward to eating the SIM card. They’d also been told they didn’t have to shave or cover themselves with tracksuit pants and hoods – also a relief, as it was hot now, even though it was winter. He and Chris both wore collared shirts and cargo pants.

‘You see that guy,’ Chris asked as they walked east along a sparsely populated city street. ‘He was looking at us.’

‘No he wasn’t,’ Walid said. ‘You’re just being paranoid.’

‘Nah, they’re on to us,’ Chris said. ‘I don’t think we sh—’

‘Shut up,’ Walid said. ‘We are almost there. Just shut up and do your job. You know what is going to happen if you don’t. Say one more word. Go on. I dare you. I’ll do you right here.’

Chris held his tongue.

Walid reached into his pocket, pulled out a white plastic pill container and opened it. ‘Here, take a few more of these,’ he said as he pushed the container towards Chris. ‘They’ll sort you out.’

He tipped the contents into Chris’s outstretched palm. Chris shoved the pills into his mouth and swallowed.

‘We are almost there,’ Walid reassured him as he pointed toward a box-like block of concrete that stood adjacent to a bell tower and soaring triangle of glass topped with a crystal crucifix.

‘WHAT?!’ Clarke yelled. He pointed to his screen. ‘No, that can’t be right . . . can it?’

But it was. The green ball was moving.