‘It could also have meant that we missed Leeds.’

Silence. Gabriel picked up a phone cable left on the desk and twirled it around her fingers.

‘Take it from me, I know what’s it’s like when it gets personal,’ he said. ‘When the press were going for me and Chris, it was the shittiest time of my working career. And I also know that no one, not even you, can perform at the top of their game when they are distracted by personal issues.’

‘Seriously, I’m fine, sir. We’re making progress. I’m sorry if I’ve pissed off some snowflakes in Whitehall, but their feelings shouldn’t be anyone’s priority.’

They ended the call. She welcomed the distraction from her thoughts when Bose came in.

‘Had something from the Canada CTPLO, ma’am. Two days ago, a customs official at Montreal opened up a container from Athens, supposedly full of olive oil, but actually containing two crates of firearms and explosives. The paperwork was Greek and there were anomalies in the details, which was one of the reasons that it drew the attention of the port authorities in the first place. They’ve checked with Athens and it’s a proxy address.’

‘And the contents?’ said Gabriel.

‘They match perfectly the list you got from your Mossad friend,’ said Bose. ‘Looks like it’s one of the GID shipments. It left Athens twenty days ago. I’ve contacted the Greek authorities to see if we can get a trace of the shipment sent here – should hear back today.’

#

Bose spent the next four hours on the phone and firing off emails. The Greeks had raided the shipping office that lunchtime and were sifting through the paperwork. It would be another twenty-four hours before they had anything.

It was after 4pm when she got an email from a local Prevent officer based at Shoreditch. A missing student, suspected hardliner, parents worried. There were no active cells at his university – no clues as to where he might be. Bose put the email in her To Do file. Probably just overanxious parents. Certainly not a priority for now – she forwarded it to a DC to look into it.

#

Cumbria

Abu Mujahid stood by the open van doors. The rifle was in the back, hidden under blankets and backpacks, and the Amazon boxes were stacked in the doorway.

‘Well done, brothers, you’ve trained hard this weekend,’ said Abu Mujahid as he led them to the kitchen where a box of unopened lager, bought that morning, sat on the table. He took each can in turn, ripping open the tabs and sending the contents gurgling and glugging into the sink.

‘Leave the cans in the recycling box,’ he said. ‘Make sure the old dear sees them. Omar – you come with me. We need to change the plates on the van.’

The beers were Asad’s idea. What better way to mask their devotion and their activities than by leaving behind the detritus of a boozy weekend? Mirza had suggested leaving a pornographic magazine behind too, but Abu Mujahid had drawn the line at that.