Desperately slowly, as quietly as he could, Faisal Ahmed unscrewed the latch of the window on the wall opposite the door, and slid it open. He climbed outside, balanced himself precariously on the window ledge, and then slid the frame shut again.
With the motion sensor disabled, he could move freely, but it was precarious on the ledge and it took all his strength to haul himself up on to the slates of the roof. Once there, however, he worked quickly. The house was old and had not been well cared for, so the slates came off easily. He removed seven or eight, resting them in the guttering, then pulled a knife from his pocket and started scoring away at the thin layer of wood beneath. It took about ten minutes to make a hole big enough for him to squeeze through. The rucksack went first, then he gently lowered himself down, landing nimbly with his feet firmly on the sturdy joists of the attic.
It was freezing cold in the roof, but Ahmed put that from his mind. He crept to the area of the attic that covered the room in which Latifa was being held, then pulled out the doctor's stethoscope from his rucksack before lying down on his front across the joists. Gently, he pulled some of the thin layer of insulation away from the floor, laid the chestpiece against the plasterboard, then attached the earpieces to his ear.
Silence.
That was OK. It was to be expected. He'd done enough surveillance of his own to realise that it was long, silent work. But when someone spoke, he would hear. When they moved, he would know. In twenty-four hours' time, the 'false alarm' that he had engineered by breaking the cat's legs would be forgotten and he would know their routines and practices.
He would know just when to make his move.
The third day dawned.
'Morning campers!' Kennedy announced brightly as he shook Will awake.
Will sat up, groggily.
'Come on, shit-for-brains,' Kennedy continued. 'I need some kip.'
'All right, all right,' Will told him. He walked over to the food stash and peeled himself a couple of bananas. Latifa was drowsing in the chair, but her eyes flickered open as he looked at her.
'Daytime?' she asked.
'Daytime.'
'I would like to use the bathroom.'
Will nodded. 'You know the drill.' He turned to Drew and Kennedy. 'Come on, you two.'
Kennedy breathed out in frustration. 'What is it with me and women?' he asked no one in particular. 'As soon as I lie down, they say they need a piss. And when we get back, the moment's lost.'
Faisal Ahmed heard every word clearly. It had filled him with a wild surge of joy to hear his sister's voice; but it was replaced by sudden anger at the sound of that man speaking so disrespectfully in front of her.
He could not dwell on it, though. Not now.
Their conversation had told him there were four of them, including Latifa, and now his stethoscope amplified the sound of them leaving the room. Swiftly, he ripped up a larger portion of the roof insulation, then took his knife and started to score into the plasterboard. He had to be delicate — the knife had to weaken the plasterboard sufficiently, but not work its way through to the other side — yet quick — if they came back before he had finished, the sound would alert them to his presence.
He worked deftly and was satisfied that the ceiling was weak enough by the time they returned to the room.
Faisal Ahmed resumed his position lying on all fours across the joists, the stethoscope firmly in his ears.
It was evening when they next went to the bathroom. His body was freezing cold and ached from lying on the joists. But that didn't matter. As soon as the room was empty, Ahmed removed the heaviest item in his rucksack — an extremely long length of thin but strong rope, one end of which he tied to the rafters of the attic. He removed his MP5, checked the laser sight was working, then fitted his NV goggles to his head — switched off for now to conserve battery. Finally he placed the remote control by his side, ready to use when the time was right, before lying down once more to listen through the ceiling at what was going on below.
The minutes ticked past.
They turned to hours.
It was perfectly dark in the attic.
He waited.
And waited.
It was gone midnight when he illuminated his watch. In the room below, he heard voices. It sounded like changeover time and with satisfaction he heard one of the men say the words he was waiting for.
'Stick the kettle on.'
Still lying on the joists, Ahmed groped for the remote control.
He flicked the switch.
No sound.
He smiled with grim satisfaction. The builder's foam had done its sound-insulating work well.
In a matter of minutes it would be over.
In the room, the lights suddenly failed.
'What's happening?' Drew asked, sharply.
'Wake Kennedy,' Will hissed, his voice terse as he strode over to Latifa and put his gun to her head.
'I'm awake,' Kennedy's voice came through the darkness. 'What the fuck's going on?'
'We've lost power,' Will said.
'Thanks, Einstein. Why?'
'I don't know. It's an old house. Dodgy wiring. Bit of a coincidence, though.'
'Probably the fucking kettle.' Kennedy's voice was edgy and clipped.
'Cutting the electricity's one way to disable the motion sensors,' Drew added.
'But you can't do it from outside the house,' Will said.
'We checked, remember?'
'The fuse box must have tripped, then,' Drew said. 'One of us needs to go and have a look.'
Will grabbed a torch. 'I'll go,' he said. 'Lock the door after me and one of you mark the woman. Don't let your guard down for a second.'
'Roger that,' they spoke in unison. Will could tell from the brisk, efficient sound of their voices that they had entered combat mode. It probably was just the kettle tripping the electrics, but you couldn't be too sure.
Will descended the stairs carefully, his weapon at the ready. As he edged slowly down to the kitchen he could feel the blood pumping in his veins. He had to get the power back on — without that, their early-warning system was useless. But something wasn't right. He desperately tried to work out what he might have missed, but there was nothing. The power couldn't be turned off from outside and the house couldn't be approached without them knowing.
It was impossible. So why did he suddenly feel so nervous?
The fuse box was just ahead of him. He illuminated his torch and pointed it at the wall.
He blinked.
The door to the box was hanging open; inside was a mess of wires and foam.
No one else in the house had done that to the fuse box It could only mean one thing.
'Oh my God,' he whispered to himself, a sudden, debilitating dread creeping through his limbs.' Ahmed. He's already here.'
And it was only then that he heard the gunshots from above.
FIFTEEN
Sixty seconds.
That was how long Faisal Ahmed gave it to allow whoever was heading down to the fuse box to get there.
He silently stood up on the ceiling joist, holding on to the top of the rope with one hand, clutching his MP5 with the other. A flick of a switch and his NV goggles powered up. Everything around him became suffused in a grainy green light. Looking down, he saw the area of the ceiling that he had scored and weakened.
And then he jumped. The ceiling plaster shattered everywhere as he crashed through into the room below. As soon as he felt the rope tighten, he started to slide down it, looking around to take in everything in the room. Latifa was in the corner, sitting in a chair: she looked around blindly in the darkness. Next to her was a man with a weapon. The gun had clearly been aimed at his sister's head, but now the man was in the process of swinging it round in Ahmed's direction.