The man at the front raised his hand.

‘DS Carter,’ said Skeffington.

‘Just wanted to know if Detective Superintendent Gabriel wanted to add anything, sir?’

Skeffington spun round, his mouth open and, for a moment, surprise, then anger in his eyes. ‘Ma’am,’ he said, controlling his voice too calmly. ‘I’d no idea you were planning to pop in.’ The voice was quiet; Gabriel’s reply was quieter – designed for Skeffington’s ears only.

‘So much for your detective skills, Inspector Skeffington.’ She faced the smirking group. ‘Listen, DI Skeffington has given you a full briefing, I’m sure. I just wanted to add something from my own personal experience with Abu Mujahid. Firstly, I’m convinced that Abu Mujahid – a man who has killed dozens of people, a man responsible for a string of atrocities against innocent men, women and children including, you’ll remember, the little girl Isobel Harris – is somewhere out there.’ She waved at the door. ‘Second, he is dangerous. He is ruthless, ice-cold and he will stop at nothing to get what he wants, which right now is to get out of the country. And failing that, to leave this world, bringing as many other people – innocent people – with him. But most of all, I believe he wants to get out alive. So be vigilant, be thorough, and be the extraordinary professionals I know you are. Bear in mind he’s organised a terror attack with automatic weapons and explosives and may be armed with either. I know you fully understand the limitations of your weapons and training and that the advanced firearms officers on patrol are better equipped to intervene unless it’s an emergency.’ Of course, they knew all this, but too many years of being second-guessed by courts and public inquiries meant she needed that on the record, even today.

As the officers left, she walked over to Skeffington.

‘Sorry to surprise you like that, Neville,’ she said coldly. ‘But this needs to be done professionally.’

Skeffington was flushed, his breathing heavy. Again, he controlled his voice. ‘Understand, ma’am. Abu Mujahid is an itch – it’s clear you want to scratch it.’

Gabriel stared up at him. ‘Don’t compound your arrogance and unprofessionalism just now by patronising me, DI Skeffington.’ Skeffington’s face winced for a half-second before he could stop himself.

‘Think I’ll accompany one of the spotters, if that’s okay with you, Skeffington. Shall we take a little walk, DI Bose?’

#

The shopping arcades inside the station were busy with people filling the minutes before their departures in boutiques stuffed with overpriced clothes and gifts. Other passengers were briskly weaving their way through the dawdlers, late for their trains or at least determined not to be. A rogue pigeon watched the shoppers with a bemused eye from the railings, seeking out crumbs of sandwich or crisps.

I shouldn’t be here, thought Gabriel, certainly not with Bose. She had met Abu Mujahid three times before and there was a chance he would recognise her. But it was a small chance, and one worth taking.