Bonfire by Mark Arundel Page B

here because I want to avenge the death of Banksy,’ Cakes said. ‘But if you want to save the woman then we should do it now. She’s only six miles away and currently stationary. Mahmoud al-Barouni can wait.’ Silent seconds passed while I considered.
    ‘Do you want me to turn east?’ Mick asked.
    ‘Yes, turn east,’ I said. Of course, what Cakes said made sense. However, the prospect of speaking to Mahmoud al-Barouni and learning what he knew before we made our move to free Magda was a hope I found hard to shake off. I told myself, once more, that he was unlikely to be at home.
    Cakes and I continued to study the screens and to give Mick directions. ‘Turn left at the end of this road,’ Cakes said.
    Magda’s tracker signal showed her location had not changed. She was still stationary. We were less than two miles away.
    ‘Go straight over at the junction,’ I said. Mick braked hard and then accelerated hard. He was driving fast and we were covering the ground quickly. Traffic was light and the roads were straight and wide.
    Ahead, beyond the nearest buildings and towering above them, I saw a minaret. I checked the screen. The tracker was sending its signal from that area. We were near.
    ‘The signal is coming from the area around that mosque,’ I said and pointed through the windscreen at the minaret.
    ‘Turn there,’ Cakes said. Mick swung the wheel and the Ford bounced on the rough surface.
    We had left the main road and were now driving through narrow streets between low-level houses painted white with small windows and arched doorways.
    After several more turns, we came out into a wider area with cobbles and trees. The courtyard had four narrow exits, not including the one along which we had arrived.
    The entrance to the mosque was an elaborate, stone archway with heavy double doors. People had parked beneath the trees and along the wall where the shadow fell.
    Mick braked to a stop and we all surveyed the area. Two old men sat together in the shade. Other people passed through walking slowly. A man stood by the door of the mosque waiting. Cakes looked up from the phone.
    ‘I’ve lost the signal,’ he said. ‘It’s gone from the screen. The connection must have failed.’ I checked the screen. He was right. My connection had dropped, as well.
    ‘Mick, is it the satellite?’ I said.
    ‘Unlikely,’ he said. ‘It’s a strong system and the satellite connection never drops.’
    ‘Then what is it?’
    ‘It could be an override switch.’
    ‘…manually operated?’ I asked.
    ‘Yes, or written into the software to trigger if something is breached.’ The screen was still blank.
    ‘All right, we know she’s somewhere near,’ I said. We studied the surrounding area.
    ‘She’s either in one of those vehicles or inside the buildings behind,’ Mick said.
    ‘Perhaps the mosque,’ Cakes said.
    Both were right. Magda had to be either inside one of the vehicles or one of the buildings.
    ‘How do you want to do it?’ Cakes asked.
    Hostage release is never easy. The biggest danger always comes from the risk of getting the hostage killed. Once the hostage takers know they are under attack, the first thing they often do is kill the hostage. Even if it means they die, too.
    ‘Mick, stay with the car,’ I said. ‘Cakes and I will take a look at the parked cars.’
    The man was quick. Even by our standards. Parked to our left in among the row of vehicles the van was at an angle, pointing away. One rear door swung open and in the same movement, the man appeared.
    Gripped in both hands the assault rifle was already prepared. He had it aimed directly at us and fired instantly. Instinctively we ducked. The staccato grunts echoed around the enclosed space, increasing their volume and depth like the singing from a showering baritone.
    The car rocked on its suspension and dropped lower as the bullets struck. The volley was brief but accurate. With the same quickness, the man withdrew inside the van, which