‘Going to have to unload from here, bros,’ said Abu Mujahid from the passenger seat. He leapt out of the van and pulled open the rear doors.

‘Up here,’ he said, leading them into the entrance of the flats and up the stairway. On the fourth floor, he opened the door with a flourish. ‘Dump the gear in the living room – we’ll sort out sleeping quarters later.’

It took two trips to unload the van before Saleem could drive off into the darkness in search of parking. He was back in twenty minutes.

Upstairs, Mirza complained of a sick stomach and shut himself in the toilet while the others settled in.

‘Welcome to your new home for the next few days,’ said Abu Mujahid once they had sorted out their rooms and made coffee. ‘From now on, you stay here – you don’t leave without my permission, understood? And you keep silent to the outside world. Where’s Tanvir?’

‘Taking a shit,’ said Muhid.

‘He’s been a long time.’ There was steel in Abu Mujahid’s voice. He rose and strode to the bathroom door, opening it without knocking.

‘What are you doing, Tanvir?’ He spoke quietly, barely more than a whisper. It set the hairs on Asad’s neck tingling.

‘Nothing, man,’ Mirza said from inside the bathroom.

‘Give me that.’ Asad craned his neck to see into the hallway. Abu Mujahid was holding the phone he had given them in Cumbria. ‘What is this, Tanvir?’ Again, his voice was subdued.

‘I was just checking on the scores, you know. Arsenal’s playing tonight.’

‘You lump of useless shit,’ said Abu Mujahid. He deliberately dropped the phone on the linoleum and raised his left foot.

‘Brother, no. I’m sorry.’

Abu Mujahid’s heel came down hard on the screen, which cracked. He ground his foot down again and again, kicking and kicking, fragments of glass and plastic whizzing across the hallway. Then he bent over and pulled out the SIM card and thrust it into Mirza’s face.

Still, Abu Mujahid didn’t raise his voice, but he oozed anger. His eyes were ablaze, and he towered over Mirza, who was still sat on the toilet. ‘You’re a disgrace. Are you going to betray us all? Are you trying to get us all killed?’

He took the SIM card, pulled up Mirza’s hair off his forehead, then dragged the card along his hairline. The edge broke the skin. Abu Mujahid withdrew his hand and plastered Mirza’s hair back over the bleeding graze. ‘Get out of my sight.’ His voice was pure fury.

Asad wondered if he would hit Mirza, but he simply walked back to the living room.

#

Wandsworth Common, South London

The pigeon was perched on the back of the sofa, its one visible eye darting around the room as the two men entered the living room of the NRF safe house.

‘Fucking hell, what a mess,’ said the first man. The acrid odour of bird droppings filled the room. The pigeon had left mess on the sofa, and carpet, but mostly on a wooden occasional table pushed back against the wall. ‘How did it get in?’