‘Ruth Hall,’ she said.

‘Hi, Ruth,’ said the voice on the other end. ‘Luke in Islamabad.’

‘Luke, hi,’ said Hall. ‘What’s occurring?’

‘I’ve got something for you,’ said Luke. ‘Just heard from a source in the ISI. The Pakistani Army were out and about on the Afghan border a few days ago. Usual thing, they were rounding up Balochi separatists and cracking a few heads. Anyway, the ISI were called up to Samungli to do a routine interrogation of one or two of the more recalcitrant types, and while they were there they came across an elderly chap going by the name of Walid Shah. Turns out Mr Shah is actually a Yemeni called Saeed al-Shafra. He was up to no good, and my guy thought we might like to know.’

‘Very good of him,’ said Hall.

‘Isn’t it?’ said Luke. ‘This al-Shafra bloke was involved in some bombings down in Karachi, way back in 2002. He’d got away from there, and gone quiet up near Nushki, and got caught up in this recent trawl quite by chance. The Pak military didn’t know what they had, and had just duffed him up a bit and then released him. As luck would have it, a member of my ISI guy’s team literally bumped into the bastard at the gates and recognised him. My guy’s interest was obviously the 2002 bombings, but when they searched al-Shafra’s home and had a chat with him they found various indications that he was involved in something more current. Exactly what is not entirely clear, unfortunately, but it seems to be some sort of big attack on UK interests.’

Ruth Hall studied her fingernails. ‘Another one?’ she said, stifling a yawn. ‘Can we get more?’

‘Not from Mr al-Shafra, I’m afraid,’ said Luke. ‘The ISI can be rather enthusiastic in their interrogations, as you’ll be aware. Apparently, he died with a truncheon so far up his arse that they could have knocked his teeth out from the inside, if they hadn’t already knocked them in from the outside.’

‘Shame,’ said Hall.

‘Indeed.’

‘Is that it?’

‘Not quite,’ said Luke. ‘He appears to have arranged for a third party in Saudi to wire a substantial amount of money to another chap in northern Egypt, a mid-level commander in the Sons of the Sacred Desert.’

‘The AQ-linked group?’

‘The very same.’

‘How much?’

‘A million dollars,’ said Luke. ‘A lot of money for a chap living in a mud hut, with a view of more mud. Don’t know what happened to most of the cash, but we have established that a hundred grand of it was forwarded on to another guy who lives in Sirte, on the Libyan Med coast.’

That certainly got Ruth’s attention. She sat up in her chair.

‘Name?’

‘We don’t have it, sorry.’

‘Will the ISI get any more from this al-Shafra guy’s close contacts?’

‘Wasn’t in his interests to show his face locally, so he kept himself to himself,’ said Luke. ‘Hardly even left his little compound. They’ve pulled his wife in, but she seems genuinely in the dark.’