J slid out of the room, pulling the door to with a gentle click. After two or three minutes, it struck Patrick that either J was summoning something more than a cup of tea or he was using the intermission for other purposes. He had a sense of being observed; presumably no room in this building was a private space. Or if not watched, at least listened to. His ‘test’ had simply shifted location from the restaurant to home base. Perhaps someone’s ears had also been flapping while they had eaten their pizzas.

The door edged open and a face appeared around it. Not J but a middle-aged, bespectacled, long-skirted woman with fair hair, greying at the edges and tied into a loose bun. She looked surprised.

‘Oh sorry,’ she said throatily with a friendly smile. ‘Didn’t know it was occupied.’ She paused, inspecting him. ‘Can I help?’

‘I’m fine, thank you,’ said Patrick. ‘He said he’ll be back in a minute.’ He sensed it would be wrong to mention that he was with J.

‘Good.’ She disappeared, shutting him in, without further questions.

A foot kicked open the door to reveal J carrying a tray with a china teapot, two cups and saucers, milk jug, sugar bowl and a small round chocolate cake. ‘Supermarket fare, I’m afraid, best I could find in the kitchen. Our standards are slipping.’ Not for the first time, Patrick felt wrong-footed. ‘Milk before or after?’

‘Is that another of your tests, J?’ replied Patrick, recovering.

J gave a short chuckle. ‘To continue. Kareem finally lands in London after his circuitous journey and we take an interest. Not heavy – too much manpower for a tentative lead. But we go fishing in the cash river, have a gander at bank accounts – he had two in his own name and another three via nominees which we tracked back to him. Another small indicator – why would he need them? Payments are going to three imams who are on our radar and two charities organising rural UK “adventure” holidays for young Muslims. There are irregular but significant payments to two airlines flying to the Middle East and south Asia.’

‘All of which could be genuine charitable and educational causes,’ said Patrick.

‘And there’s his own charity too,’ continued J, not answering. ‘Islam in the Community. Discreet but a means of giving Kareem a presence. Here he now is, back in Britain – a good-looking, articulate young Muslim, charismatic even – with a network of contacts. But a different creature altogether from the rabid preachers. There’s something sophisticated about him – agile, supple, lithe. And inscrutable.’

‘You still had nothing concrete.’

‘He begins to work the student Islamic Society circuit, initially in the Midlands and the North. One-day trips, innocent enough stuff, no apparently significant meetings. Then we hear he’s on the bill in London at Queen Vic’s. We decide to attend in person.’

‘We?’ said Patrick, eyebrows raised.