Tested by Fire by David Costa (the little red hen read aloud TXT) 📗

liked to call it. He carried the Browning 9mm in the right-hand pocket of his green Barbour jacket. His hand felt comfortable wrapped around the pistol grip. He constantly observed the other people on the train and again as they walked across the overhead walkway leaving the station and down the steps turning right into Deansgate itself. Costello had been here years before when he’d driven a lorry with nearly one ton of HME from South Armagh, to park it up near the Arndale Centre before activating the timer which triggered one of the largest explosions in Britain since the Second World War.

He was aware he was on the British Security Service’s most wanted list but a visit to Tehran and a few cosmetic snips here and there had been enough to change his facial profile, enough to allow him to move about more freely. Only someone who really knew him could spot the man below the new mask.

It was while he was in Tehran that he’d met by accident his old friend Sharon Lyndsey while sipping a cup of strong Arabic coffee outside a café in The Square of the Revolution.

She was wearing the traditional Muslim headscarf and when he called out to her, she stopped and taking a long look said, ‘My God, Sean is that you?’

They had hugged and talked non-stop through three cups of coffee. The last time they’d met was in a training camp in the Becca Valley in Lebanon. She was teaching in tradecraft on how to use forged documents to get through security checks and how to set up false covers and bank accounts. Costello had been improving his skills as one of the world’s deadliest snipers.

After two more meetings, the plan that brought Costello back to Manchester had been hatched. Lyndsey had hitched her star to a number of Islamic Jihad groups from Hezbollah to Al Shabab but always staying close to the al-Qaeda terrorist campaign. Like Costello, she’d always moved when one group seemed to be going soft on the West. Lyndsey had told Costello she had contacts in England who wanted to attack the British establishment where it would hurt most, its own streets. In particular, there was a small team of three men who she’d helped with false documents and money. These men were now ready to carry out attacks in England but what they needed was a good target and the proper resources to hit it, determination they had in abundance according to Lyndsey. It was then that Costello had floated the idea of a joint operation where he could supply the equipment and they could hit two targets at once. They agreed that Lyndsey would be the finance provider and the point of liaison between the two groups on the ground and Costello would be the leader of the overall operation.

Costello worried that she’d be too well known and might be spotted in England. She’d laughed and told him she’d been there many times helping to radicalise young men to the cause of the Islamic Jihad, then helping them to train and fight in the countries where they were needed.

The three-man team she spoke of were of the highest calibre and commitment. One of them, Waheed, was a cousin of Azhari Husin who had been al-Qaeda’s bomb maker in chief. He’d been killed when a house he was in at Batu, Indonesia was assaulted by their Special Forces acting on intelligence received from the Israeli Secret Service, Mossad. He’d been wounded twice but died a martyr to the cause when one of his associates detonated a suicide vest killing them both. Waheed had followed in his cousin’s footsteps and was now one of Islamic Jihad’s top bomb makers.

The seed of an idea had started to formulate in Costello’s mind. He didn’t know if he could work with a fanatic who was willing to kill himself to get the job done. To Costello, this was a waste of good talent. Talent like him, who, if with the right organisation and planning, not only gets the job done but gets away to do the same on another day and time. He was prepared to die for his cause, but he would rather live for it.

‘Can you get them all to Manchester before October first?’ he’d asked her.

‘No problem. Two of them are there already; one of them works in an office in the city. The third man is in London, but I can have him there by the first.’

‘Good, if we can do what I think we can, we’ll bring about the greatest defeat of the British and the West since 9/11 and the day your husband died a martyr in London.’

‘If you can do this, I’ll help you all I can.’

Now, as Costello left Deansgate Station with Mohammad and walked over the walkway down into Deansgate, then past the front entrance of the Hilton Hotel, he knew what he was looking for and the questions in his head that needed answers.

The hotel staff were standing out in the street on what appeared to be the emergency hotel drill. Many of them in flimsy uniforms offering little protection against the strong, cold wind.

When Costello had told Lyndsey his idea, she’d been sceptical at first but when he went into the details, she’d agreed that with a little planning and the right team, it could be done. Lyndsey had contacted her al-Qaeda masters to brief them. At first, they too were sceptical, especially from the point of view of a Western Terrorist working closely with the Islamic group, but in the end admitted that if the operation was a success, it would be a great victory for both groups. If not a success, they would lose little and could blame Costello for the failure. Lyndsey had told Costello this and what they were thinking. He was still happy to proceed and now, with Mohammad he