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twine ready. He borrowed his dad's car, drove off into the hills and found his parking spot.
    As he switched off the car's engine, opened the driver's door and got out, something made him take the twine in his right hand and pull it gently, just to test the pressure.
    But the pull was not gentle enough. The bomb exploded. A few minutes later, at exactly 6:30 p.m., the freight train began to pass by. The train driver looked out of his cab and saw the smouldering hulk of a burning Ford.
    Jeff had simply disappeared. Later they found the remains of his body. And his notebook.

8
    Deveraux's boss at MI5 arrived first thing the following morning and was swiftly in conversation behind a locked door with Deveraux, Fergus and Dr Jacobson.
    Dudley – he was known only as Dudley, and few people in the Secret Service knew for certain whether it was his first or his second name – was the one who had convinced Danny and Elena that their help with the mission was vital. They hadn't seen him since then. They were unlikely to see him now.
    He tossed a copy of the Mirror onto the desk. Its headline was similar to the ones splashed across the front page of every other daily newspaper.
    ANGELS OF DEATH
STRIKE AGAIN
    'We must move this on now, sir,' said Deveraux urgently. 'We have to get Elena to push Black Star into giving us more to go on. We know now that these kids are making the devices themselves. Something Black Star tells Elena will give us the clues we need.'
    The air in the operations room was already stale and heavy. The desktops were cluttered with empty coffee cups, discarded newspapers and opened files of the most recent data.
    'I'm aware of your views, Marcie,' said Dudley. 'But I have to take into consideration other opinions.' He looked at the psychiatrist. 'Doctor, is there any more you can tell us about Black Star?'
    Dr Ruth Jacobson's regular presence at the hotel had a dual purpose. Not only was she overseeing Elena's emotional welfare and ensuring she wasn't succumbing to Black Star's grooming, she was also attempting to put together a psychological profile of the bomb master. It was a major part of her job, and during her career she had helped police and the security services to track down a number of highly dangerous criminals, ranging from serial killers to terrorists.
    There were those within the police and the security services who regarded her work as a waste of both time and resources and thought that her success was based on little more than lucky hunches and educated guesses. But others – and fortunately they were in the majority – knew the full value of Ruth Jacobson's incisive mind.
    Since Elena had resumed her online conversations with Black Star, Dr Jacobson had been fully involved, studying transcripts of the conversations and analysing every single word in her attempt to form a picture of the bomb master.
    'I'm fairly certain now that Black Star is a man,' she said, leafing through the transcripts.
    Deveraux looked unimpressed. 'I've known that all along.'
    Dr Jacobson was not thrown by Deveraux's dismissive attitude; she was fully aware that the high-flying MI5 agent was one of the sceptics. 'But I think now that he's not a young man. He's middle aged, at least.'
    Deveraux suddenly seemed interested. 'And what makes you think that?'
    Dr Jacobson put the papers she was holding down on the desk. 'For a start he seems . . . experienced. And some of the phrases he uses – they're more . . . mature.'
    She pointed to a line in the typed transcript of the last conversation. 'Look at this. He says, "It's my role to help others." Role is an unusual word these days. I think a young man would have said "job". And look here, in the next sentence. He says, "I understand completely." It's grammatically correct, but most people today would say, "I completely understand" – particularly young people. There are other examples in earlier conversations.'
    Deveraux said nothing for a moment as she tried to form her own