Hunter Killer by Chris Ryan

agreeing with him. Sometimes, in their line of work, you were called upon to do something that felt morally dubious. Nailing the two bastards involved in this atrocity wasn’t going to be one of them.
    ‘So what do we know about them?’ he asked. Because identifying a target was one thing. Finding them, when they didn’t want to be found, was quite another.
    ‘We have their names and their addresses,’ Victoria said immediately. ‘In fact, unusually for such situations, we know a fair amount about them. I shouldn’t expect it will take you very long to deal with them. Hugo does speak extremely highly of you.’
    Buckingham gave them what was clearly meant to be a friendly smile. Neither Danny nor Spud reciprocated.
    ‘Your first target is Sarim Galaid. Second generation Somali immigrant.’ As Victoria spoke, Buckingham passed round another photo of a thin, dark-skinned man with sunken eyes and high cheekbones. ‘His parents are peaceful, well-integrated Muslims.’
    ‘If there is such a thing,’ Chamberlain interrupted. ‘Eh, lads?’ That wink again. Danny and Spud turned their attention back to Victoria.
    ‘ Please , Piers,’ she said under her breath. ‘The parents disowned him several years ago when he started showing extremist tendencies. I mean, really , it must have been a terribly difficult thing for them to do. He was on the MI5 watch list a couple of years ago, but slipped through the net in recent months, I’m afraid. Very low profile, not considered high-risk. He lives in a one-bedroom flat in Hammersmith. We’ve been staying clear of the place so as not to spook him, but I wouldn’t be surprised if you found a substantial amount of bomb-making equipment there.’
    ‘Look forward to making his acquaintance,’ Spud muttered.
    ‘Target number two,’ Victoria continued, as Buckingham handed round a second picture of a slightly plumper, more fresh-faced young man. ‘Jamal Faroole. Born in the Quetta region of Pakistan. Previously unknown to the security services. Lives in a council block in Perivale. We’ve had surveillance on the block for the past twenty-four hours, however, and there’s been no sign of him.’
    ‘He’s been busy,’ Danny said.
    ‘Well, quite.’
    There was an uncomfortable pause. Victoria and Maddox exchanged an awkward look. ‘Go ahead, Victoria,’ Maddox said quietly, like he was pushing her into doing something she didn’t want to do.
    ‘Your third target,’ she announced, ‘might be familiar.’ She clicked her fingers at Buckingham, who obediently handed her a third photograph. She held it up for everyone to see.
    Spud gave a low whistle.
    ‘Amar Al-Zain,’ Victoria said. ‘Otherwise known as Abu Ra’id. You probably know something of his history. But not everything. Born and brought up in the UK, attended Thames Valley University where he studied political science. Up until the age of twenty-one he lived quite the high life. A keen drinker. His flat mate chalked up a warning for cannabis possession, and we have a copy of an official warning from the university reprimanding him for bringing pornographic material into lectures.’
    ‘ Naughty hate cleric,’ Spud muttered.
    ‘Youthful high jinks,’ Victoria said with a dismissive wave of the hand.
    ‘But still,’ Harrison Maddox cut in, ‘not your standard resumé for a Bin Laden wannabe.’
    ‘Not at all,’ said Victoria. ‘To the best of our knowledge he was radicalised about halfway through his university career, after which time we see a spike in extremist rhetoric around Thames Valley. He’s a very persuasive speaker and attracted quite a crowd of young Muslims around him during the rest of his time at university. And has continued to do so, of course, at the Holy Shrine mosque in north-west London, among other places. All our intelligence suggests that his sympathies lie with the militant group Al-Shabaab, which as I’m sure you know recently became aligned with Al-Qaeda, though it’s