The last few years had seen the highest highs and the lowest lows. Her team had prevented a potential catastrophe at Luton Airport, pulled in a cell planning an attack on a school in Brighton and broken up a network organising a simultaneous bomb attack on two of London’s most prominent skyscrapers. Yet the lows had been intense, Abu Mujahid and Isobel among them.

Banish these thoughts, she told herself. She returned to Bose’s notes. These people were obsessed with codes. It was the mentality of a primary school child, not a terrorist. She was doodling on a pad, playing with the letters, when Campbell came to her door.

‘Some positive news, ma’am. We’ve had an alert from Fletcher’s bank. His card has been used in an ATM on a garage forecourt in Bexleyheath, not far from Chilton Park. Had a notification about a minute ago.’

‘Bexleyheath? Rings a bell.’ Gabriel scrambled for the notes on her desk. ‘Yep – he lived there as a kid, moved out aged fourteen.’

‘He’ll know the area well – makes sense for him to hide out there, ma’am,’ said Campbell.

‘Okay. Get down there – contact the digital forensic team. And a surveillance unit too. And pull the local council CCTV. And get a team sifting through footage of far-right demos from the last three years. Let’s see if Fletcher has any pals in the NRF.’

Finally, a break, thought Gabriel. If Fletcher had been stupid enough to use a cash machine, he would have made other mistakes. Surely, they were just a few hours behind him now.

#

Stonebridge, North West London

A short woman in her thirties with a tight-fitting blue trouser suit and straight strawberry-blonde hair was waiting outside the block of flats, swinging a fob of keys in one hand and clasping a folder in the other.

‘Mr Jenkins?’ she asked as Abu Mujahid approached the door.

‘Correct,’ said Abu Mujahid, proffering a grin.

The woman eyed him up for a few seconds. ‘Right on time. So you’ve booked for a week, but want to look at an extended stay?’

‘That’s right – I need somewhere for the next three weeks.’

‘Well, I think you’ll like it and we’ve no bookings till February half-term, so that’s all super. Would you like to follow me in?’

The flat was on the top floor of the five-storey block, built in the 1980s or 1990s. Abu Mujahid followed the woman into the lift and across the landing’s diamond-patterned red carpet.

The pair stepped through the front door into a corridor lit only by the pools of daylight creeping through the glass panes above each of the five interior doors.

‘Two bedrooms, a large bathroom with spa bath – room for you and a friend – the kitchen and here’s the sitting room.’ The woman opened the last door with a flourish. ‘Wooden flooring throughout and newly decorated.’

‘It’s lovely. My girlfriend will adore it.’ Abu Mujahid scrutinised the room. ‘The details on the website said there was outdoor space?’