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the road, go past the clinic and turn right. You will see the bookshop in front of you.’
    â€˜Thank you,’ Maya replied.
    As she walked away she was followed by ripples of laughter. She didn’t know what they were finding so amusing, but at least they seemed friendly and for that she was grateful. She was trying not to think about what might be happening to her mum, but images haunted her like bad dreams – she saw her tied up and gagged, her face marked with bruises, her eyes dulled with pain. Instantly she pushed the pictures to the back of her mind – but the clock was ticking.
    * * *
    It was Pam’s lowest moment. She rubbed the side of her face where the man had hit her with the phone. He’d been angry because she’d added the message to Maya about the moon. Afterwards she’d tried to convince him that it was a custom she and Maya followed when they were apart – each of them looking at the moon and thinking about the other. She could see that the woman half-believed her, but the man was suspicious.
    â€˜You know what we agreed,’ the man said.
    Pam wasn’t sure she’d agreed to anything, but she knew she didn’t want them to hurt Maya.
    â€˜I’m sorry,’ Pam said. ‘I knew my daughter was upset so I wanted to comfort her.’
    â€˜Your daughter will be beyond comfort if you disregard our orders,’ the man said angrily. ‘Omar will not be pleased.’
    Pam rubbed at her bruised cheek. ‘Then why do you need to tell him?’ she said softly.
    The man scoffed and spat on the floor. ‘We Muslims are not double-dealers and liars like you kafirs. Omar must be told. He must be warned. The girl could cause him trouble.’
    * * *
    The Red Moon bookshop was at the top of a side street that led off the main road. From across the street, the crimson shop front decorated with gold crescent moons looked like a store that might sell children’s toys. As Maya stood checking out the premises she saw a dark figure slip away from an adjacent doorway and melt into the shadow of the buildings. Crossing the road she felt exposed, her skin prickled – somebody was watching her – but if it was one of the surveillance team, they didn’t challenge her.
    The door of the bookshop creaked and jangled as she tentatively stepped inside to look around. Shafts of sunlight striped the tall bookshelves, lighting up golden Arabic lettering on thick, leather-bound volumes. Paperbacks with titles such as
One Faith
and
Islam in the Modern World
were on display. There seemed to be nobody about, no owner or customer, but even so, her heart was racing – she felt as if she’d crossed enemy lines.
    Nervously she edged towards the counter, took off the cap and bent to look at some pamphlets.
    â€˜Can I help you?’
    The words vibrated softly in the dusty room. She turned, but couldn’t see anyone. Then, soft as ashadow, he appeared from behind a bookcase and without a sound he was standing in front of her; the man with the green eyes, his photograph come to life. Maya was totally dumbfounded.
    â€˜I . . . I . . . er . . . I came . . . I came to buy a book.’
    â€˜Well, you’ve come to the right place.’
    His voice was surprisingly deep and mellow. His eyes rippled with translucent light: they were the most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen. Captivated, all she could do was stare.
    â€˜I’m Khaled,’ he said.
    She had to look away to gather her thoughts. ‘I was told you’d be able to help me,’ she said. ‘I need some information.’
    â€˜Yes, what about?’
    She dared herself to look at him again; his eyes held hers. Her thoughts broke into pieces, her words stumbled out. ‘I’m a student,’ she managed to say, ‘writing a special study.’
    â€˜Yes, what is your subject?’
    â€˜Erm, Muslim youth,’ she replied. ‘Why young Muslims are