‘The terrible part is,’ said Julien Segal, shaking his head, ‘that sometimes I think it’s not so hard to understand why they despise us so bitterly. The more our Western world loses its way, the more it only confirms their faith and motivation to press on to victory against an enemy that lacks the fire, courage and motivation to oppose them. There’s a kind of purity to the way they think. Nothing we can do can deter or influence them. Their belief is absolute.’

‘Sounds like you sympathise quite a bit with your terrorist buddies,’ Roth said. ‘Maybe you were happy to do your part helping them, so you can go on being their little dhimmi when they set up the new Caliphate of Europe, the House of War becomes the House of Islam and the black flag of ISIL is flying over Paris, Brussels and London. Maybe you’re really a closet terrorist yourself, as well as a coward. Which makes me wonder if I maybe shouldn’t just shoot your worthless ass, right now.’ Roth took out his pistol. ‘Sorry, Margot, but your husband is a prick.’

Segal put up his hands. ‘Please! You can’t—’

It was hard to tell whether Roth was joking or serious. ‘Nobody’s shooting anybody,’ Ben said, pushing the gun away. ‘You and I have better things to do.’ He glanced at his watch. Six a.m. ‘We still have some time to work out a plan of attack.’

‘Jawohl, Herr Kommandant. So what do you have in mind?’

Ben turned to Segal. ‘Tell me exactly what’s scheduled after the ship comes into port.’

Segal was sweating, still staring at the gun in Roth’s hand. ‘Everything’s set up to look completely legitimate. I have the paperwork, export licences and itemised descriptions of the cargo contents to show to the harbour master, who signs them over to the care of the Institute. Then the crates are to be unloaded from the ship onto a pair of flatbed trucks.’

‘Whose trucks? Nazim’s?’

Segal shook his head. ‘They’re rentals. The drivers are just a couple of men for hire who have no idea what they’re transporting.’

‘So Nazim won’t have any of his people there except you?’

‘Until the moment the ship arrives, it’s just me,’ Segal said. ‘But he has a man on board. Ostensibly a crew member, but his real job was to supervise the loading of the cargo in Tripoli and keep an eye on it en route. His name’s Zahran Azzam Yasin, a Libyan. He’s one of Nazim’s most committed and dangerous jihadists. A real fanatic.’

‘Like the rest of his men are only touchy-feely semi-fanatics,’ Roth said.

Ben asked, ‘Where do the trucks go from there?’