Kareem smiled sweetly at her, as handsome as ever, hardly a crease in his face, the hair still thick and shining. He was clean-shaven, just as when she had first encountered him, and dressed in a dark grey business suit, white shirt and blue tie. For the identity he was now assuming his physical appearance had melted into West, not East.

‘You are wrong, Sara,’ he began. ‘The story is finished. Although I prefer to use the word “narrative”. You know much of it. An Arab boy from a rich family is sent to England to live and be educated. He begins to see a corrupted society, to meet people with other, better values. Now a man, he meets a beautiful girl called Sara with whom he could spend his life—’

‘And rapes her.’ She finished his sentence with a contempt that shocked Patrick.

‘No!’ It was a scream, a cry from the dark, a noise she never could have imagined from him.

Kareem paused, taking a deep breath, uncrossing and recrossing his leg. ‘There is no need for accusations, particularly false ones.’ The voice had quietened – calmer, colder, more controlled than ever.

Sara, wanting to rebut him, bit her tongue as Aaqil, knife still displayed, moved into the lights. He carried a jug of water and two glasses. Glaring at her and giving an almost imperceptible shake of the head, he placed them on a side table between her and Patrick.

‘I must apologize,’ said Kareem, ‘I am afraid we no longer have facilities here for tea.’ He waved a hand at Aaqil who disappeared into the shadows. ‘Perhaps I may now continue my narrative.

‘One September day this man takes the girl for a ride on the Millennium Wheel. At the top, he imagines how beautiful, how deserved it would be if the Parliament he sees below could explode into the air. The girl fails to understand him.

‘By a fateful coincidence, the next day real destruction happens – but in America, not the society and nation he has lived in and come to despise. He reads more, learns more, advances his own understanding. He flies to Pakistan where he talks to scholars and meets fighters. They tell him his role is not on the battlefield. He will be different, his task to radicalise and recruit. The Iraq war makes it easy.

‘Then comes 7/7. There is nothing beautiful to him about it – not like 9/11. He sees flaws, but cannot desert the cause. He is picked up – illegally, though he does not complain – by MI5. His outlook changes, he agrees to switch sides.’

‘Come on, Kareem,’ said Patrick. He cast a glance to see if Aaqil was in hearing range. There was no sign of him. ‘You had no bloody choice. You took the traitor’s shilling.’