‘That’s him,’ said Bose. ‘Fast-forward.’

The clip sped up. At 9.04am, the van appeared at the bottom of the screen, driving away from the camera.

‘Get the address up now and send the details and the address to me ASAP,’ said Bose.

She picked up the phone to call Gabriel. ‘We’ve got Abu Mujahid’s movements in the missing hour, ma’am. He was,’ she looked at the screen where a map had suddenly appeared, ‘driving along West Link Road, Willesden, at 8.34 and then he left around half an hour later. Looks like an industrial estate. We’re pulling up the map and list of properties and businesses. I’ll send it over. We need a team in the area ASAP.’

#

Kilburn, North London

Campbell switched off the morning news.

He’d rung up the office earlier and been told to stay at home. If Abu Mujahid was in North London, as the boss seemed to suspect, then Campbell’s Kilburn flat was close by.

The phone buzzed. It was Bose. ‘Jorell – we need you over at Willesden. We’ve found Abu Mujahid on CCTV driving to and from an industrial park yesterday. There’s a storage unit on the park and he may well have been keeping the explosives and weapons there. I’ve got a dog unit, PolSA and forensics on the way too, but you’ll be there before then. Sending over details now.’

#

Stonebridge, North West London

Today was the day of jihad, the day of purification, the day of victory. Around him, the cell members were in a state bordering delirium. They spoke too quickly, their laughter was too loud. Muhid and Saleem seemed to be competing to see who could be most enthusiastic. And yet, as Asad had knelt in prayer with the others in the living room, his mind had returned to the hallway cupboard. Abu Mujahid had told them to spend an hour alone, reading the Quran, preparing mentally for the journey ahead, yet every few minutes his mind would drift from his bed and into the darkness where Mirza’s body was cocooned in plastic. Where was Mirza now? Had his soul been extracted painfully because he had not properly committed to the struggle? And what journey had his soul taken? Would Asad be with him soon?

Asad walked into the living room. He was too nervous to speak to Abu Mujahid, who had laid his laptop on the table in the corner and was assembling the drones. The boxes he’d brought to the flat the day before were sat on the floor beside the table. Two empty rucksacks, each long enough for a rifle, were piled by the door.

Abu Mujahid greeted Asad and called the others for prayers one last time. Afterwards, he sat on the floor cross-legged.

‘You’re lucky,’ he said. ‘Many of our brothers and sisters have no time to prepare themselves for martyrdom. They are snatched from this world with debts, with anger and with work unfinished. You have the blessing to be beginning this journey in full knowledge of where you are going. You will have eternal peace and honour in the gardens of Paradise. And now it’s time to go.’