Next to the wall, the younger boy was crying. Sallum smiled down at him. 'Allah have mercy on you,' he said. He drew the P7 swiftly from his pocket. One shot was all that was needed. He fired straight at the boy's head, the bullet smashing into the side of the skull. The boy crumpled to the floor, blood seeping from the wound.
When the others see this, then they will learn to be truly awed by the pitilessness of our vengeance.
Sallum stepped out into the cold morning air and glanced up and down the lane. In the distance he could see a man walking his dog. He left the door open, making sure the bodies would be discovered quickly, and walked back towards the Lexus.
One limb severed. Four left. Just as the Prophet would command.
Alison was dressed in a hotel towel when she emerged from the shower. Her hair was wet, tied behind her neck, and droplets of water were still running down her smooth, tanned skin.
Matt caught a glimpse of the outline of her breast underneath the cloth, her nipples still stiff from the water. 'I ordered some breakfast,' he said.
'How sweet,' she replied, her lips breaking into a broad smile. 'A man who can slaughter a boat full of al-Qaeda, then provide breakfast. What more could a Five girl ask for?'
'Room service is about my limit,' said Matt. 'That and sausage sandwiches.'
'Pasta, surely,' said Alison. 'Guys can always rustle up a spag bol.'
Matt spread a thick layer of butter and jam on his toast and started eating. In the background he could hear Sky News talking about an explosion in Hamburg: al-Qaeda were the main suspects. 'They're getting closer, aren't they?' he said, looking up at Alison.
She nodded. 'There's going to be something in Britain soon, if we don't break them first.'
'It makes me want to rejoin the Regiment,' said Matt.
'You've done your bit,' said Alison. 'You can't save the world all by yourself.'
Matt threw the remains of his coffee down his throat. The blood of the men lying on the floor of the boat, and the severed limbs strewn across the hold after the Semtex had exploded were still vivid in his mind. This memory was still raw. And yet, as he listened to the details of the women and children killed in the Hamburg attack, he couldn't regret a single one of them.
They had it coming to them.
The mobile phone rang twice before Alison answered it. She had pulled on a pair of black tights and a blue silk blouse, but her skirt was still tossed over the back of her chair where Matt had undressed her last night. He found himself admiring the shape of her leg as she perched on the arm of the sofa, her head nodding briskly into the phone. 'Thanks,' she said briskly. 'I'll be there in twenty minutes.'
She put the phone down and looked directly at Matt. He could tell something was wrong. 'It's Cooksley,' she said. 'He's dead. And his family.'
Matt could feel his blood freezing. In the Regiment, you got used to dying. A couple of guys had gone down just on the induction course, and after that there'd been a regular two or three a year. One dark night, alone with a bottle of vodka, Matt had calculated that, of the twenty-five men in his intake, fourteen had already died. But each death struck you afresh, hitting you straight in the gut. Your mind suddenly filled with memories of all the times you had spent together, all the risks and dangers you had shared, and all the regimental reunions you wouldn't be sharing now that they were gone.
'What happened?' Matt asked.
Alison walked across the room and rested a hand on his shoulder. 'Somebody broke into the house, shot all four of them.' She paused. 'Apparently there's a video.'
'A video?' said Matt. 'What the fuck. .'
'The local police say there was a video left at the scene. They're getting a copy up to Five.'
Matt brushed her hand away from his shoulder. 'If you'd given us a safe house, this wouldn't have happened.'
'Don't give me that,' snapped Alison. 'You knew the deal.'
Matt stood up and walked to the window. He could feel the rage rising in his chest, his pulse was racing. 'My friend is dead!' he shouted, refusing to look at her.
The video had been sitting next to him all the way along the M4. Matt hadn't even wanted to look at it or touch it.
I have a strong stomach, and I have watched lots of men die. I've seen women who've been raped in Bosnia, and children garrotted in Chechnya. I know what pain and suffering look like.
He slammed the door shut on the Boxster and looked suspiciously across the car park. The Reading Travelodge was on the Basingstoke Road, a mile north of junction eleven of the M4. The Harvester Inn stood in front of it, facing the road, and the hotel was tucked just behind. Matt waited for a few minutes to make sure no one was following him, then walked inside. He had already booked a bedroom, checking it came with a video player.
He collected the keys from the receptionist, and walked down the corridor. He had spoken to Ivan, Damien and Reid right after Alison had told him of Cooksley's murder. It was too dangerous to stay at the hotel in Wandsworth: somebody was clearly on to them, and for all they knew they might be watching the place. Let's gather in Reading, at three in the afternoon, he'd told them. Alison had promised that the Herefordshire police could get a copy of the video up to London, and that she could give it to him by lunchtime. They'd met at the BP petrol station on Vauxhall Bridge Road, just across the river from Five's headquarters. Anyone looking at them would have thought they were just two people chatting as they filled up their tanks.
'Are you coming with us?' Matt had asked as he'd tucked the video into the pocket of his coat.
'No,' Alison had said, with a swift shake of her head. 'You're on your own.'
The words were still playing in Matt's ears as he swiped the card through the door and let himself into the room. We're on our own. Well, that's fine. That's how we fight best. As a small unit, following nobody's orders except our own.
He waited for ten minutes. The room was painted pale cream, with a double bed and a TV, a desk, and windows that looked out over the car park. Rain was starting to fall.
If there was one lesson Matt had learnt in combat, it was that once things started to go wrong, they kept going wrong.
A messed-up mission stays that way. The only thing you can do is get it over with as quickly as possible and hope to stay alive.
Ivan, Damien and Reid looked sombre as they walked into the room. They had taken a train up from London together, and caught a cab from the station. Their faces were drawn, their expressions shattered.
'We'd better watch this,' said Matt, slotting the video into the player. He picked up the remote and pressed play. The picture sprang to life on the screen. Matt braced himself, taking a deep breath.
The next few minutes are going to be among the most horrible of my life.
The film lasted only a few minutes. They watched in silence, none of them speaking, none of them moving. Matt was sitting on the edge of the bed, Damien on the chair, Ivan and Reid on the floor. The first shot showed the man in the mask, moving across the room. They watched as Sarah was killed, then the first of the children. Matt found it hard to concentrate on the screen, forcing his eyes back towards it as each murderous scene unfolded. He knew he had to watch if they were to have any chance of discovering who was after them, but his eyes kept closing. He could hear the man's voice, saying something to Cooksley. He looked back up at the screen and saw the face of his friend staring back at him — a face he had known through good times and bad, yet which he had never seen in such a state of total despair. Cooksley looked as though he knew it was all up for him, and he just wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible.