“I can only process facts, opinions, suppositions. Unless I have something to go on, I can’t help.”

“Well, I’ll give you something,” Blake said. “And it’s been intriguing the hell out of me. Does the Wrath of Allah mean anything to you?”

“Should it?”

“When Clancy and I faced Morgan, in the moment before he bit on the cyanide tooth, Morgan said, ‘Beware the Wrath of Allah.’ ”

Roper frowned and shook his head. “It doesn’t strike a chord, but I’ll run it by my computer.”

“So, the way ahead on this one appears plain,” Ferguson said. “I think you, Superintendent, should have another word with Mrs. Morgan in your guise as a welfare worker.”

Hannah wasn’t comfortable and showed it. “That’s a difficult one, sir. I mean, her son is dead and she doesn’t even know it.”

“Which can’t be helped, Superintendent. It’s an unusual situation, I agree, but when one considers the gravity of the deed Morgan was trying to commit, I feel that any means that will help us to reach an explanation would be justified. See to it, and use Dillon as backup. His knowledge of Arabic may prove useful.” He turned to Blake. “We’ll drop Roper off at his house, and you and I can continue to the Ministry of Defence, where I’ll show you everything we have on Muslim activity in the UK.”

“Suits me fine,” Blake said.

Ferguson turned to the others. “All right, people, there’s work to be done, let’s get to it.”

After leaving the pub on Kensington High Street, Greta and Ashimov crossed the road to the embassy and got into a dark blue Opel sedan. She checked the glove compartment and found a digital camera.

“Excellent,” he told her. “You can drop me at my apartment in Monk Street and keep in touch on your mobile. Anything of significance, I want to know.”

“Of course.” She drove out into the traffic. “Where’s Belov at the moment?”

“The good Josef is in Geneva. All those billions, my love, it keeps him so busy.” There was an edge of bitterness there.