'This is Liri.' Kupu encircled her waist. 'One of my best girls. Empty your handbag and let's see how well you've done tonight.'

'The rain,' she said as she fumbled. 'Business wasn't good.' She emptied the handbag of not very much.

Kupu glanced at it, then took a Gladstone bag from under the desk, opened it and swept in Liri's earnings.

'Excuses, Mr Holley, it's all I get.' He slapped her face, then said to Abu, 'Search her next door. See if she's hiding anything.'

'No, please,' she begged Kupu, as Abu grabbed her arm, opened the far door and shoved her through.

'Stupid bitch, they are all the same. I give them employment, look after their interests and how do they repay me?' He swallowed more vodka. 'But to business. You can supply what I need? I'm a serious man. I desire only to help my Muslim brothers who are being butchered every day in Kosovo.'

'Very commendable.'

'And I have good references.' He patted the side of his nose drunkenly. 'AQ, eh?'

'Is that a fact?' Holley said.

There were muffled cries from the next room, but Kupu ignored them. 'You don't believe me, do you?' He reached for the vodka bottle, swallowing again. 'My father's brother, my Uncle Mahmud, is an art dealer based in Tirana. He specializes in rare holy books and manuscripts. He travels all over Europe, knows people at the highest level. I act as his contact man in Paris. He tells me everything. For example, what if I told you that Prime Minister Putin intends to make a visit to Chechnya this weekend? All very hush-hush. The sort of thing you only hear about afterwards.'

Holley said, 'And why would he be doing that?'

'A meeting requested by a very high-level Muslim holy man. A famous Mullah, now in his nineties, Ibrahim somebody.' He leaned forward. 'But here's the thing, my friend. This holy man, this Ibrahim? He intends to become a martyr this weekend. He will be carrying religious scrolls, which of course security men would not dare to search. A profound insult. And inside the scrolls-Semtex. You wouldn't need much to do the job at close quarters. The Prime Minister would be blown to hell.'