‘Now,’ he said to Chris. ‘It’s time.’ The pair had waited at the back of the throng as instructed, but now began to push their way to the front. As they advanced, Walid looked at Chris and knew why the Mahdi had instructed them to make a bomb with dual triggers.

‘Focus!’ Walid ordered. ‘This is our moment. This is what it has all been for.’

The instruction seemed to snap Chris out of his stupor.

Walid led the way as the pair moved towards the cathedral. He imagined he was playing soccer as he sidestepped his way past the spectators at the back of the throng. ‘Excuse me,’ he said repeatedly. Soon the throng was so dense he had to imagine he was playing rugby instead of soccer, using his shoulders and his weight to forge a path. It would have been so much easier had they staked out a position at sunrise, but the Mahdi had been explicit in his instructions.

Still, they eventually got to where they needed to be. Exactly where they needed to be. The President would be well within range.

‘Come on then,’ Chris said. ‘Give me my trigger.’

‘No, not yet. Not until he pulls up. Until the car stops. How many times do you need to be told?’

Walid was now perspiring too. Nothing like Chris, but he could feel the sweat beginning to pool around his armpits. He watched as the lead car in the procession passed, quickly followed by another car that looked exactly the same, and then another. Walid thought the little American flags on the cars’ aerials looked strange. Stiff. They didn’t seem wave about like a flag should.

He turned away from the procession and looked up to the sky when he heard the helicopter. The Mahdi had said nothing about a helicopter. Oh well. It wouldn’t matter. Nothing could stop them. Not now.

The Presidential limousine was in sight. Not the two decoys – they had already passed – but the one they called the Beast. The one that carried President Forrester. Salim moved his right hand into his pocket in anticipation of handing the first trigger to Chris – not that he expected it would be pressed. More likely the one in his left pocket would detonate the bomb. The glory would be all his. He smiled as he thought of the rewards that awaited him.

When the President’s limousine came to a sudden halt, stopping on a dime, Walid thought of a Formula One car – a McLaren or a Red Bull pulling up in the pits at Albert Park during the Australian Grand Prix. He drew a depth breath and withdrew the trigger from his pocket. ‘Chris,’ he was forced to mutter to get the idiot’s attention. Discreetly, he transferred the palm-sized trigger into Chris’s hand. ‘Not until he is out,’ Walid warned.