Henri took Aquil and me straight back to the safe house. All the way back, I was trying to keep the young man conscious; I knew if we lost him, we lost our best chance of finding who was really responsible for the attacks—although I was more convinced than ever that Adam Warick was involved somehow. I wasn’t sure if he was involved directly, or if he just knew far more than he was letting on, but he definitely had questions to answer. My main concern now was whether or not Jason was also involved. That, and why Jason wasn’t answering his phone.

At the safe house, Luc made Aquil some of his famous coffee —“a cure for everything” he told me—while Henri made a few calls to get an emergency doctor to make a house call.

I sat with Aquil on the sofa in the main living area, and watched car after car pull up outside, spilling out armed officers.

“Aquil, how are you?” I asked quietly. The young man smiled weakly.

“Better for being away from that place and those men.”

I bit my lip. I had so many questions but I also knew that if I pushed Aquil too hard, too quickly, that we could lose him. The full debrief could wait until the doctor had seen him, but there was one thing I had to know.

“Aquil, do you know a man named Warick?”

The look of pure terror that crossed the young man’s face told me everything I needed to know. He tried to speak, but I shushed him.

“It’s OK, Aquil. We can talk later.”

Aquil shook his head. “Warick is here. Now,” he told me urgently, pulling at my sleeve.

“I know, Aquil,” I answered, trying to keep him calm. “You don’t have to talk. Just rest, please.”

“I’ve only seen Warick a few times,” he continued. “He met me in Morocco and told me he would make me an actor, but he just dressed me up like a terrorist and put me in front of a camera. When I complain, he turns nasty. Injects me with drugs. Put me in front of camera and make me say terrible things.”

“It’s OK,” I reassured Aquil. “We know it’s nothing to do with you. You don’t have to worry about anything. Please try and relax.”

Aquil shook his head. He was trying to make me understand something, but I obviously wasn’t getting what he was trying to say.

“After that, I only see Warick day before the attacks. But his men tell me last week the next attack on Thursday. That’s not right, yes?”

Realisation began to dawn. “You mean, because Warick is already here, you think they’ve moved the date of the next attack forward?”

Aquil nodded. “Warick told me this is last attack. After this, he has no use for me.” The young man began to cry. My heart was breaking. This young man had been through hell; and, worse, everyone believed he was responsible for terrible crimes, when he was actually a victim.

“Aquil, I promise I will keep you safe. I will not let Warick hurt you. No matter what happens.”

My phone began to ring, and I motioned for Luc to come over and sit with Aquil until the doctor arrived. It was Jason. Thank God, I said to myself. There would be plenty of time to get angry with him later. For now, I was just relieved that he was OK.

“Jason, it’s Christine,” I answered. “Where the hell are you?”

“Ah, the beautiful Agent Simmons,” said a voice I recognized instantly. Warick.

“What’s going on? Where’s Jason?” I asked, trying, and failing, to keep my voice even.

“Well, I think you know the answer to that question, my dear,” he answered. “Seeing as I have my suspicions that you followed my clumsy colleague back to my place earlier today and removed something very precious to me.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” I replied, trying to catch Luc’s attention, and then gesturing for him to fetch Henri.

“You have Ahmed Al-Farook, Agent Simmons. And I would like him back.”

“Why do you need him? You don’t have to hide behind terrorism any more. In fact, you can’t hide behind terrorism anymore.”

“Let’s just say I don’t want to leave any loose ends.”

I laughed. “And what makes you think I’m just going to hand an innocent young man over to his death?”

Warick paused. “Because I have Jason Kern, and I suspect that you want him back as much as I would like to see Mr Al-Farook again.”

I paused. Would he really swap Jason for Aquil? Unlikely, I calculated. It was in Warick’s best interest for both men to die. For all I knew, Jason was dead already.

“I want to speak to him,” I demanded. Warick laughed.

“I’m afraid he’s, well, he’s having a little nap at the moment. But I can arrange for you to see him soon. Bring Al-Farook to the house where you found him. Alone. And then I’ll hand over Agent Kern. Happy ever after.”

Warick hung up. Henri looked at me questioningly.

“He has Jason,” I said. “He wants to swap for Aquil.” We both looked over to where the young man had fallen asleep on the sofa. Already he looked ten times better than when I had found him in Warick’s house just a few hours ago. Could I ask him to risk going back into that hellhole? I had no choice; if Jason was involved, then he had to face justice, and, if he was innocent, then I had to get him out of there.

Or maybe Warick and Jason were still working together. Maybe this whole exchange was a trap, playing on my feelings for my fellow agent, and putting everyone else at risk in the process.

“What do you want to do?” Henri asked.

“We’re going to get Jason,” I told him.

* * *

An hour later, I pulled up at the house with a slumped Al-Farook in the front seat of the car. Henri and Luc were in position nearby, but I had told them to stay back unless absolutely necessary. I didn’t want to give Warick any excuse to go back on his word—not that I actually expected him to play by the rules.

“Warick,” I called out, and the door of the building squeaked open. The gunman from the square emerged, pointlessly wearing his balaclava again, and peered behind me into the car.

“Is he dead?” he asked with a laugh.

I opened the car door and gently shook the sleeping figure awake. He was wrapped in blankets to try and keep him warm, and he needed to rest all his weight on my arm just to stand.

“Now, where’s Jason?” I demanded.

“Come out, loverboy,” the gunman called, and Jason stumbled forward into the street, a couple of ripe bruises already forming on his cheek.

“Send our man over,” called the gunman.

“Same time,” I countered, desperately trying to see if I could spot Warick himself lurking in any of the windows of the building. I couldn’t imagine him missing this show.

“Same time,” the gunman agreed. “On three?” I nodded, placing my hand in the small of Al-Farook’s back, ready to propel him forward.

Just before the count of three, I heard the all-too familiar sound of a gunshot, and Al-Farook slumped to the ground next to me, groaning in pain.

“Jason, run!” I screamed, hoping that Henri and Luc had also heard the gunshot and were on their way. I felt another bullet whistle past my ear and shatter the car window. The gunman was laughing, and I saw that he had hold of Jason around the neck. There was someone else shooting. Warick himself, maybe?

I bent down as if tending to Al-Farook, and took out the gun that we had previously hidden in the folds of his blankets. He was still alive, but bleeding. I would have to check how seriously he was injured in a moment; for now, I had to try and get that gunman away from Jason. I turned and fired an instinctive shot, hitting the gunman in the side of the neck. He slumped backward, an arc of bright red blood painting the wall, but, more importantly, releasing his hold on Jason, who stumbled forward toward the car. I helped him inside, screaming at him to help me get Al-Farook into the vehicle with him.

I knew Warick could recover his poise at any moment, and was just waiting for the shooting to start again. When it did, I was surprised and relieved to realize it was coming from the end of the street, where Henri and Luc had said they would wait.

Henri nodded at me as I jumped into the driver’s seat. He was radioing for back-up. Surely, Warick wouldn’t get away this time.

“Thank you,” Jason said breathlessly from the back seat.

I made eye contact with him in the rearview mirror as I drove away and left the bloody scene behind us. “Is he OK?” I asked. Jason looked confused. “The guy in the back—is he OK?”

“Al-Farook?” Jason queried.

I rolled my eyes. “Of course it isn’t Al-Farook, you idiot. Do you think we’d risk letting Warick get his hands back on him? It’s one of Henri’s agents in disguise. Now I’ll ask you again—is he OK?”