‘The third attack,’ said Tennant after a moment’s reflection. ‘So, we pull him in.’

‘I think so, sir. There’s a good chance his phone will lead us to whatever the NRF are planning in Leeds. At the very least, it will shed light on his Leeds contact. The question is how to arrest him and ensure his phone stays unlocked. It’s a brand-new iPhone, and digital forensics say they will need days to crack it. We can’t wait that long. This could be imminent.’

‘What are you proposing?’

‘We pull in Houghton, and we pull in everyone associated with Houghton,’ she said. ‘And we get warrants for every address associated with him.’

‘That sounds bloody desperate to me,’ said Tennant. ‘And if it doesn’t work we are clueless to stop the next attack.’

‘It’s worked for us before. If we pull in enough people, we’re bound to find something. Everyone gets sloppy at some point.’

‘We’re not “bound” to get anything. This is dangerously high-risk.’

‘I disagree. It’s our best option right now.’

Tennant shook his head. ‘No.’ He almost barked the word. ‘I’m sorry, but not this time. Not with Houghton. I don’t believe some kind of hit-and-hope operation is going to pull in the results we need. We need the phone unlocked and I’m not gambling on a mistake. I want something better. Find a weakness – anything where he is vulnerable. And exploit it.’

#

An hour later, she was on the phone to Tennant.

‘Make this good,’ he said.

‘I’ve got an idea – I reckon we can get him to unlock it for us.’

DAY 10

Friday

Cumbria

Asad had been woken just after 6am by footsteps on the wooden floor outside the bedroom he shared with Saleem. Saleem was lying on the bed under the duvet, snuffling through a blocked nose. Asad had slept fitfully on the floor with a cushion propping up his head. He had gone to bed with his mind fizzing and it refused to switch off. He was unable to squeeze in the enormity of what was happening – today, tomorrow and later that week.

The cottage was tired and musty. Red and green floral curtains were pulled against the window, while knick-knacks, coated with dust, littered every surface – white china figures of women holding umbrellas and tiny ceramic jars. But there were bonuses. The nearest farm house was five hundred metres away and the nearest village two miles.

They prayed that morning in the living room, pushing back the sofa to create space. Overnight, Abu Mujahid had lifted the canvas bag from the van and left it against the wall by the TV. Throughout their breakfast of porridge, orange juice and coffee, Asad found his eye being drawn to the bag. He had little appetite and felt desperate to get breakfast out of the way.

They sat in a circle around the living room, some on chairs, others cross-legged. There was electricity in the air. Abu Mujahid dropped the canvas bag in the centre of the room and slid out something long and thin, wrapped in a piece of stained sacking. He picked up a newspaper and spread its pages over the carpet as Asad held his breath.