Abu Mujahid’s voice was steady. ‘I want to introduce you to your new best friend.’ He opened up the sacking and carefully lifted out a rifle. Asad could feel the droplets of sweat on his brow and his heart banging in his chest and ears as he gazed in awe.

‘This is an assault rifle,’ said Abu Mujahid. ‘It’s an SA80, the weapon of the British Army, which is kind of appropriate.’ He lifted the rifle with one hand and passed it to Saleem, who held it in his palms like an offering. Saleem’s face broke into an excited grin.

‘It’s going be a busy day,’ said Abu Mujahid. ‘This morning, we’ll be working on the rifle. If you were soldiers with me in Syria, you’d spend a day learning how to disassemble it, clean it and put it back together. You’d be so proficient you’d be able to do it blindfolded. But for our purpose, you just need to know how to use it. There’s a wood close by and it’s the last weekend of the pheasant season, so no one will bat an eyelid at the odd gunshot. Just don’t use it on automatic. And I’m giving you these.’ He pulled out four mobile phones and new SIM cards still in their plastic packaging. ‘They are only for emergencies – I mean that, only emergencies. Keep them with you, but use them only as a last resort.’

They spent the next hour watching Abu Mujahid taking the rifle apart and cleaning the parts before assembling them. Asad was transfixed. He’d never seen a gun close up before, let alone had a chance to handle one. Abu Mujahid went through each part, explaining its function – the receiver cover, the recoil spring and rod, the carrier assembly.

‘The rifle will be loaded when you take it out, but you will have a spare magazine. And you may get to use it. The magazine has thirty rounds. The safety catch here,’ he pointed to the level on the right side, ‘has three positions. Up is safe. When you are ready to fire, push the latch all the way down. The bottom position is semi-automatic. The middle position is fully automatic. If you use it on automatic mode, you’ll go through the magazine in seconds.’

Asad was surprised at the lightness of the gun in his hands. He held it up, looking through the sights under Abu Mujahid’s guidance.

At 10am, Abu Mujahid took it back. ‘I need to go into town now – I’ll be back at noon, so be ready for me.’

#

The internet cafe was on the ground floor of a red-brick building off the high street in Kendal. Abu Mujahid sat in the window with a baseball cap pulled down over his forehead and pair of black-rimmed glasses on his nose. It wasn’t an ideal seat, but it gave him a clear line of sight into the street.

He logged on using the ID he’d bought at the counter and went to the Amazon site. It took him thirty seconds to find what he wanted and another two minutes to make the order. He chose a collection address in Kendal and paid with Amazon gift cards he had bought with cash at a supermarket the previous Sunday. There was no CCTV in the cafe, although he’d spotted two cameras on his walk from the van. He would take a different route back.