He was keen to imbed himself in the community of fellow wealthy residents and had been generous with his donations at the fundraiser, making some good new business contacts with mosque elders as well as some of the more up-and-coming members as well. All a good investment for his future, especially as it looked like he wouldn’t be returning to London.

He had settled into Lagos quite nicely and quickly, helped by the fact that he already had a comfortable, well-furnished home in the gated suburb community which was well-managed, affluent, and immaculately maintained. Not for him the dire slums and grinding poverty of downtown Lagos.

Adebayo had a sneaking suspicion that the charity, Lagos Community Mosque for Syrian Orphan Relief was a cover for ISIS, but he didn’t give it too much thought. He wasn’t politically active and certainly had no desire to live under the restrictive Sharia laws, enjoying, as he did, the finer things in life.

He missed London and his wife and children, but not so much that he wanted to return and risk prison and asset confiscation. His wife had point-blank refused to accompany him, citing the children’s education, which he understood, but he did not enjoy the dishonour it brought him in his new community. He hated the pitying eyes of his new friends when they learnt that his family were still in London, no matter how much he assured them that they would be joining him in due course.

He had no shortage of female company, however. Men of his means rarely did, and he often entertained lady guests at his mansion. Not that night though; he had an early meeting with an important businessman who he hoped would offer him some opportunities to grow his nest egg with a possibility that was very interesting.

Pulling his Range Rover up to his house, he pressed the remote control on his keyring and the iron gates swung open, revealing a sweeping drive that led to his modern, single-storey home. The double garage door was already rolling open as he approached, the lights automatically activated. He edged the big car into the immaculate space with its red-painted, glossy, concrete floor and parked next to his sleek Mercedes.

He was yawning as he exited the car, having to pull the hem of his kameez robe up as it caught on the gearstick. He had taken to wearing traditional Islamic dress more and more often, as it seemed appropriate and many of his neighbours dressed the same.

A voice in English cut through the silence behind him, causing him to almost jump out of his skin, ‘Mr Adebayo, may I have a moment of your time please, sir?’ A tall, heavily built bearded man stood at the entrance to his garage. He was distinguished looking with a neatly trimmed beard and was wearing an immaculate tailored suit that Adebayo could tell was not off the peg.