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

to be ready to cut their heads off when they do. Let’s go back and see how the team are getting on. It’s our job to wait until they make a mistake…then kill them.’

 

 

Chapter Forty-two

Costello unpacked the few clothes he had from his bag and placed them in the wardrobe and drawers. The final item he removed was about ten inches long and in its leather sheath. He withdrew the Muela Pro Throwing Knife and felt the cold, solid steel as he balanced it in the palm of his right hand. He always thought of the knife as his get out of jail card to be used as a last resort if he needed to. When he first got it, he’d practiced for hours throwing it at a tree in South Armagh until he could pull it from the sheath secured in his boot, throw the knife spinning through the air, and hit the target dead centre in a split second.

He’d sharpened the blade producing razor-sharp sides. He’d taken the knife to a farm in Monagahan one night. He picked the farm for two reasons. The first was that the owner was old and slightly deaf, and the second it was a pig farm. He’d approached the sty quietly and stepping in, he picked out one of the larger pigs and approached it from behind. Pigs are like humans in many ways, they hear well and sense movement so the whole exercise made it all the more real for what he wanted to do. In one quick movement he stepped astride the pig pulling its head back and, just as it started scream, Sean cut its throat from ear to ear with the throwing knife. The blood spattered across the pen and the pig, now silent, collapsed its whole-body weight going limp. He knew the experience would be similar if performed on a human being.

He felt the balance once more before placing the knife back in the sheath and secured it to the boot on his right ankle.

He heard the door opening and Lyndsey came into the room.

‘Have you picked which bed you’re sleeping in?’ she asked.

‘The one furthest from the door…it gives me more time to react if we have unwelcome visitors.’

‘Mohammad got in touch. He’s burnt the car and was able to return safely to Irlam.’

‘Good. Will he stay there until we move?’

‘No. He has to pick up the keys of the apartment before he meets up with you. Before that, he’ll attend the Conference to see if there’s been an increase on security and report back. Tonight, we relax, tomorrow we work.’

 

 

Chapter Forty-three

Mohammad had left Irlam Station and found the pizza shop was still open. He ordered two ten-inch pizza’s one with four cheeses and one with mixed meats but no bacon. When he got to the safe house it was quiet, but he found Imtaz and Waheed watching the TV in the living room the sound down low, barely audible.

‘Hi, guys, food’s up.’

Both men smiled; Waheed showing the gap between his front teeth a smile but not a smile. He could see they’d been watching the news showing that day’s report from the Conference a government minister talking to the camera.

Getting plates from the kitchen, they all sat at the dining table.

‘No bacon I hope, brother,’ Waheed said.

‘No bacon,’ said Mohammad with a smile. Waheed wouldn’t last long living in the west, he thought. There are times in war when you had to make sacrifices and Allah would understand.

‘Where have you been?’ asked Imtaz.

‘Getting rid of the car. It’s burnt, job done.’

They ate in silence, each in his own thoughts.

‘What now is there any change to the plans?’ Imtaz asked.

‘No, we stay on track.’

‘Can I ask a question, Waheed?’ asked Imtaz. ‘I’ve never seen what a bomb can do in a crowd, do you have any idea of a safe distance when I leave it?’

Waheed gave that wide gapped-toothed smile. This time it looked genuine thought Mohammad, like he was going to enjoy the answer.

‘Of course, my brother, I can answer from personal experience. I was working with the Jihad and Taliban in Afghanistan and we attacked a market of the enemy. I placed a rucksack bomb exactly like the ones we’ll place in Manchester. I set it under a table in the centre of the market and went and stood about one hundred yards away, behind a wall, and pressed the phone button. When it exploded, many of our enemies died and many more were badly wounded.’

‘Was it the Semtex and the nails that did the damage the most?’ asked Imtaz.

‘Not Semtex. This time I used captured Russian plastic explosives, but it’s the same. The bomb had nails just like the ones I’ve used but you have to remember, when it goes off in a crowded place the blast tears bodies apart. The nails tear through the skin, breaking the bones underneath. Pieces of the broken bones fly like shrapnel, creating more damage to the bodies of people nearby. You can never believe unless you see it yourself, pieces of men, women, and children, still burning…the smell of charred flesh and hair. Sometimes, those closest to the blast disappear altogether, leaving nothing but a bloodstain where they stood.’

‘It sounds like a scene from hell. How do you live with the memories, how do you sleep?’ asked Imtaz.

Looking from one to the other, Waheed let out a long slow breath.

‘You must always remember, my brothers, we’re always at war. If these people support the Great Satan and refuse to acknowledge the one true God that is Allah, then they’re the enemy and they must die, all of them, every one of them. Are you ready to carry the fight to the enemy for our God for Allah?’

There was silence for a