Oh fuck you. Are you serious? Jax stared back at Clarke. His mind was playing back the memory of Martin visiting the Serpent in the clinic, spitting out snippets of conversations: ‘Actually, he is the only person I have ever seen speak to the Serpent. Interesting story behind it all . . .’ and ‘I’ve heard he even helps guys out once they leave.’ Then the Dodge’s comment: ‘Another convert, hey, Father . . . Thought you were more of a fan of the Leb boys, though, Father.’ And he recalled the headline ‘Prison chaplain’s plan to perform exorcism on Serpent’. He hadn’t bothered to read the story because he’d known nothing of the plot then. In fact, he hadn’t known anything until they’d shoved a bunch of files in front of his face in the wake of the Salisbury attack. And with what Jax now suspected was only selected intelligence, they’d given him only thirty days to work it out, twenty of which he’d ended up spending in a coma.

He suddenly hated the Australian agent almost as much as the unlikely mass murderer in front of him. Killer of 1234 people.

Abruptly, a clean-cut man wearing a black suit pushed Clarke aside and ripped off the priest’s gag. ‘Where is the next attack?’ he demanded in a thick American accent – East Coast, Jax thought. ‘When?’

Jax was surprised that Martin didn’t so much as grunt as a layer of skin was removed with the tape. But not surprised when he shook his head and laughed.

‘Too late,’ Martin said. ‘Boom! It’s done. “And from the ashes He will rise.”’

The American shattered the chaplain’s nose with a textbook right cross.

‘Mav!’ yelled Sami as he emerged from a shadowy corner of the truck.

Martin’s guttural laugh filled the room.

Sami pulled Mav away from the priest as his nose began to gush blood.

Jax knew the CIA would have no problem with violence, given the urgency of the situation, but Mav had hit the perp so hard he’d almost knocked him out.

Jax studied the chaplain again. A clergy collar. The perfect red herring. The intelligence services would naturally have been looking for a Muslim. No doubt they’d done a background check on Martin – they’d have gone through every person who had access to the prison – but they probably hadn’t dug very deep.

They were all staring at Martin now, looking for some sort of read. Some sort of indication of what might force him to divulge the details of the final attack.

‘Hit me if you like,’ the clergyman said, breaking the silence. ‘Make me bleed some more. I will savour the pain, for it will be short.’

‘Would you like me to attend to your nose?’ Sami asked.

Martin shook his head after looking at the large digital clock located next to the computer screens.