He’d fulfilled his side of the deal. He’d set up the route and arranged all the details. They’d carried out a dozen trial journeys with the containers and not once had there been any sign the authorities knew what was going on. On the last trip Latif and Saabiq had ridden in the container from Naples to Rotterdam. Once on board the Excelsior they’d emerged from their hiding place and retired to an empty cabin, courtesy of the captain. Later, when the ship had unloaded, they’d left the ship along with the crew. There’d been no checks on either of the containers.

That had been the final test and now Taher was confident the operation could succeed. Every month or so a large delivery of armaments would arrive at the airfield near Cambridge. The Saudis would send an aircraft to collect them, but a single pallet would go missing from the consignment and end up on the Excelsior bound for Rotterdam and beyond. And these were no ordinary weapons. Not cast off Russian goods from decades ago. Not cheap Chinese copies. There were the latest in hi-tech rocket launchers. Laser guided. Massive destructive power. In the coming months the weapons would be distributed, ready for an offensive early next year. The plan was to disrupt tourism in Morocco, Tunisia and Egypt, from West to East Saharan Africa, and the rockets would help to accomplish that aim.

For Taher it wasn’t enough. Africa was a long way from northern Europe where the previous attacks had done little to bend the minds of the sanctimonious British, the arrogant French or the smug Germans. They needed to be reminded of what it was to be afraid, of what it was like to have death call at their own front doors. When he’d informed Haddad he was ready for the big one, the Saudi had smiled.

‘Of course you are,’ he’d said. ‘Once all this is over I promise you will have what you desire.’

So Taher had done everything asked of him. As well as setting up the smuggling route, he’d eliminated Francisca da Silva and dealt with Ben Western and Neil Milligan. The reward was continued support from Haddad and something else too. A present from the Saudi that Taher had stored in the roof space of a lock-up garage he rented in west London. Long and sleek things they were. Massive destructive power. He smiled to himself. When the deal was done and the first tranche of weapons had been handed over, he’d head back to the UK. Latif was waiting for him, and together they would avenge the deaths of Taher’s family.

He took a second to whisper two words, clenching his fists as he did so.

‘Collateral damage,’ he said.

Harry Palmer wasn’t free at short notice, so Holm had arranged to meet for lunch the following day.