Clarke’s files told him that Khalil had only a limited and skewed understanding of Islam, imparted by a manipulative terror group leader. But Jax had no plans to give Khalil a religious lesson, today or any other day. In fact, he intended to say very little to Khalil today, just as he had done over the previous four days. He would speak only when spoken to and respond with a single word, either yes or no. Tomorrow, he would start to extend his answers to sentences, and maybe even start some conversations of his own a few days later. Little by little, he would befriend his cellmate.

Jax would not reveal his expert knowledge of Islam but he would soon show an interest – and then a burning desire to belong. He’d tell Khalil how he’d been a loner at Long Bay. Tell him he had no one left and nothing to live for.

And that’s when Khalil would take him to the others. To the men he’d been asked to spy on.

Or, at least, that was the plan.

CHAPTER 30

Mexico City, Mexico

SAMI sat at his assigned desk, sweating profusely, partly because just one shitty spilt-system air-conditioning unit was attempting to cool the entire demountable and partly because he was anxious.

The results of the DNA tests were due back today. They could land in his inbox at any moment. It was the lead they’d been praying for: something that could help them identify the terror group that had killed 883 people in six attacks – in France, Russia, Italy, America, Bulgaria, and now Mexico.

Exactly a month after the blast in Bulgaria, the group by then known as the ‘Church Bombers’ had struck in Mexico City, at the Church of San Felipe Neri, resulting in the deaths of thirty-three people. Bald, holding a backpack and screaming ‘Allahu akbar’ before detonating the bomb, the ‘gringo’ at the back of the church had been blown back out onto the street. The blast had claimed the lives of another twenty-eight people, sixteen killed instantly and twelve later dying from wounds. The church would have been levelled, all 186 killed, had the bomb been as powerful as the last five. Residue collected from the scene suggested an error in the chemical cooking process.

Also bald, holding a knife and a gun, and screaming ‘Allahu akbar’ after his co-attacker had detonated the underpowered bomb, the gringo at the front of the church had opened fire when the explosion hadn’t gone as planned. Standing over the dead priest, blood dripping from his blade, he’d shot three people dead. He would have killed more – there were another twelve rounds left in his Glock – had the Tierra Caliente drug cartel enforcer in the congregation not shot him dead, the bullets from the gold-plated and diamond-encrusted Desert Eagle handgun removing the terrorist’s face.