Sam scrabbled to separate the warring thoughts over-lapping in his brain. He felt he had lost control of his life, that he was being pushed and pulled in different directions. He had been hired as the voice of moderation, the young Muslim who could speak up for tolerance. Now he was torn. Before, part of him had agreed with Rolt; now what the man was talking about sounded like nothing short of ethnic cleansing, in which he, Sam, would be tarred with the same brush as Karza, and Bala, with his leg injury and electronic tag. To have escaped deportation in Bosnia then find it here, being openly discussed by supposedly civilized people? It was unthinkable. What could he say? His mind had become a complete blur. He opened his mouth, hoping fervently that what came out would not be too incoherent.

‘Thank you. Well, I think it’s a time for care, for restraint, for keeping open lines of communication with all sections of society. We should extend a helping hand to the returnees, rather than punishing them. We need to help them find a way back into society. And those who have been traumatized by their experiences, I think we should be helping them, just as Invicta helps ex-servicemen and -women, who’ve fought for their country.’

That seemed to make sense. So why was there an uncomfortable silence when he finished? He noticed that almost everyone was staring into their own laps. No one was looking at him. Had he crossed some kind of line?

Clements struggled to find the right response. ‘Well, that certainly sounded like it came from the heart. Thank you, Sahim.’

Sam’s heartbeat was hammering in his ears.

Rolt engaged him with a cold stare that sent a shiver through him. ‘It’s a laudable position, and I don’t doubt your good intentions,’ he began, ‘but I’m afraid we’ve passed that point. Where do you think you’re going to find the popular support, now we have seen what they – some extremists – are capable of ? The people we are talking about are not the well-meaning Muslim running their halal business or corner shop. We’re talking about another thing altogether: the menace in our midst, who’ve taken all our hard-fought-for values of tolerance and free expression and crushed them underfoot. They want Sharia law. They want a caliphate. They want women segregated, shrouded, deprived of education. And they are prepared to blow up my men to scare us into making concessions. No, we need to be rid of them, whatever it takes.’

Sam’s mouth went dry. Those words would be Karza’s death sentence. Before, he had relished this sort of meeting, enjoyed the cut and thrust of the debate. Now he was lost for words, and terrified of what the future might bring.

Chapter 54

54

Party Headquarters, Westminster